A Candle in the Darkness
by mille libri
Summary: No one can save the world alone. As Antonia Trevelyan struggles to find the courage to be the hero the Inquisition needs, Cullen fights the darkness of his past and present. Together, can they be the light against the shadow that threatens to swallow the world? [{f! non-mage Trevelyan/Cullen}, possible other pairings]
1. The Herald of Andraste

_A/N: So I said, "No new stories for Inquisition." I said, "I am definitely not romancing Cullen." I said, "Under no circumstances will I ever write a Cullen story." ... Well played, BioWare. _

_Seriously, though, these two and their people are such fun to write - I hope you all have as much fun reading. I love feedback - constructive criticism always welcomed - and I encourage suggestions if there are any particular scenes you want to see as this goes along. Many, many thanks to Oleander's One for encouragement, hand-holding, and all-around friendship! I have a nice buffer on this one, so expect updates every Friday for a good long while.  
_

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_18 Drakonis, 9:41_

There was a morning when Antonia Trevelyan woke up and almost knew what she was doing. It was a larger accomplishment than it sounded: Since she had fallen from the breach in the sky, the changes in her life had been many and the learning curves vast, and she had come back here to her hut and wept with frustration and fear more often than she would ever admit to. She believed she had covered it rather well—except from Varric, whose keen eyes seemed to see inside her on occasion. But he had said nothing, for which she was grateful.

Getting dressed, she left the hut, heading for Haven's Chantry. It was cold outside, as it always was, even though in the rest of Thedas she thought it was spring, with the sun's warmth just bringing the plants to life. Haven seemed to exist out of time, somehow.

She heard snatches of conversation as she made her way through the camp: "Really? I hadn't heard", and "What's that in the pot?" and "Well, I won't stand for that", and "Look, it's the Herald of Andraste!"

Antonia had finally stopped looking around when she heard that name, wondering where this blessed Herald might be. She had a hard time believing that she had been touched by the Maker's Bride—she was just a minor noble from Ostwick, who had been assisting at the Conclave in a clerical position. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She took pride in her family heritage, and in the studies that had made her a useful addition to the Conclave. Growing up, she'd been left alone in the family estate in the country quite a bit, and had whiled away her time by studying. By far the youngest in her family, she had always known her role was to be part of the Chantry, unless an extremely advantageous marriage could be arranged for her. As a young child, she had been told by her father that he intended her to be a Templar one day, which is how a young member of Marcher nobility had trained in the use of a greatsword with one of the Free Marches' greatest swordsmen.

By the time she was in her teens, talk of her becoming a Templar had died away, but by then she had grown to love her bouts in the training ring, using her muscles in addition to her brain, learning a different kind of focus, so she had kept it up.

The irony that the only survivor of the Conclave would happen to be someone learned in both books and battle was not lost on Antonia—but to believe that Andraste had somehow chosen her for this role was to believe that the Maker's Bride had also somehow intended the Conclave to be destroyed, and with it so many good people, and for this chaos to be unleashed on the world, and that Antonia could not fathom. It was easier by far for her to believe that her survival, and the mark on her hand that somehow spoke to the rifts in the sky, were coincidence, and that she was still a person, just like all those she passed on her way every day.

But she couldn't argue with every person who addressed her by the title, and she had come to see the wisdom in what her advisors argued—that the people needed to believe, whether she did or not. The people needed to think that Andraste was looking out for them, and that she had sent a Herald down to Thedas to reassure them that somehow everything would come right.

Shaking off her deep thoughts, Antonia looked up. She smiled when she saw Cullen, the Commander of the Inquisition's forces, waiting for her outside the Chantry.

"Are you here to see that I don't trip over my feet or get lost on the way to the War Room?" she asked.

"Not at all. You've never seemed prone to either one—don't sell yourself short." He walked with her, holding the heavy Chantry doors open with the courtesy that was such an intrinsic part of him.

When Antonia had first been shown around Haven and told about her role in the Inquisition, she had been reluctant, overwhelmed, still fighting against what appeared to be her destiny. Leliana, who led the Inquisition's spy corps, had been unyielding in her insistence that Antonia embrace her role, her eyes gleaming with the zeal of a true believer. If Leliana didn't believe Antonia had been touched by Andraste, she faked it very well. Cassandra, who was Antonia's unofficial jailer in those first days when they still weren't sure what to make of her, and had become her trainer and companion in the days since, had been instrumental in forming the Inquisition—if Leliana was a true believer, Cassandra came close to being a zealot. There had been no escape from the scrutiny of either woman, no chance to relax or to come to terms with how she, Antonia, could fit into the Herald's body. Josephine Montilyet, an Antivan whose family Antonia knew slightly, oversaw the Inquisition's diplomacy, and she rarely had time for more than a brief chat.

It had been Cullen who made time for Antonia to continue the combat training that kept her centered, Cullen who answered her many questions, Cullen who made sure she was taking time to eat and sleep in her otherwise hectic schedule. Antonia was grateful to him—if he had ever had doubts about her fitness to act in the role she'd been assigned, he had never expressed them in word or deed, and his easy warmth and confidence had gone a long way toward making her feel comfortable in Haven. If it hadn't been for Cullen and Varric, she'd have either run screaming down the mountainside or gone completely insane, she thought.

"What's on the agenda today?" she asked Cullen now.

"I believe the usual—spies and diplomats and soldiers. Something like a child's strategy game, I sometimes think. Did you ever play such things, growing up?"

Antonia shook her head. "I was alone much of the time. I suppose I could have played against myself, but who would I have crowed to when I won?" She smiled, glad to see Cullen's smile in return. He tended toward the serious, but as Antonia grew more comfortable with him she was finding a light-hearted side of him peek out in response to her occasional irreverences. She'd never been a person who was comfortable being serious all the time—even in the dark days they were living through, Antonia felt they needed humor to remind them what they were fighting for. Thus far, Cullen and occasionally Varric were the only people she felt comfortable showing that side to, and when they responded in kind, she felt for a moment like the Antonia Trevelyan she knew.

As they came into the War Room, Leliana and Josephine were leaning over the long table, murmuring intensely about some problem. They looked up as she came in, and for a moment Antonia saw herself through their eyes. At 26, she was far younger than all the others in the room—while she'd never been forward enough to ask, she knew Josephine was in her mid-30s, and the others appeared to be roughly contemporary with the Antivan. In addition to her youth, Antonia was slight of build, her shoulders narrow. She wore her hair short-cropped and it had a tendency to tousle—she hardly looked like nobility anymore, and she certainly didn't appear to outward glance as a warrior. And to her cost, Antonia well knew that her big brown eyes and open face were far too expressive for any kind of competent spycraft. It was moments like these, standing there under the scrutiny of people who actually knew what they were doing, that she felt least like the chosen of anyone.

"Herald, why don't you come look at the fortification plan for the gates?" Cullen said, coming to her rescue as he had so often before.

She followed him, bending over the schematic, frowning at it. Reading schematics was another skill she'd never possessed before, but learning how to study them and find the flaws was a challenge she enjoyed, like the swordcraft. By the time she and Cullen had finished going over it and fine-tuning it, the atmosphere in the War Room had changed into something more collaborative, and they were all able to continue the meeting.

At the end of the meeting, Antonia felt she was being dismissed. Cassandra walked her out, leaving Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine together at the table. It was hard to decide how she felt about that. In some ways, Antonia resented being treated like a child. In other ways, she understood it—after all, she had fallen from the sky in rather mysterious circumstances, and they didn't really know her yet. And in yet another way, she was glad. To have stood up and asked for a larger role in the decision-making would have made this all very real, cementing her change into the Herald of Andraste, and Antonia just wasn't certain she was ready for that yet.

Later, after a long lunch with Varric and Cassandra—who sniped at each other constantly, but seemed to enjoy their mutual hostility—she changed into her combat gear and headed out for the training ground. The shouts could be heard distinctly in the clear, cold air around Haven. The men enjoyed the work they were doing, and they believed in their leader. In return, Cullen took his responsibilities toward them very seriously.

There seemed to be more than she remembered, which Cullen confirmed as she joined him. Locals from Haven and even some pilgrims from other parts of Thedas were coming to join them every day.

Antonia had to wonder why. What brought them to this cold, inhospitable place in the back end of nowhere, to follow a young girl who had no more idea than they did what she was doing there?

Cullen turned his head, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "None of the new recruits have made quite the entrance you did, I have to say."

She smiled. "I suppose I did get everyone's attention."

"That you did." He walked toward a man who was holding out a bound parchment to him, talking as they went. "I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall. I was there during the mage uprising, and I witnessed the devastation it caused. You can ask Varric sometime if you want a first-hand account. He's the storyteller." Cullen took the parchment, looking it over quickly. With a brisk nod, he handed it back. "Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a role within the Inquisition, I left the Templars for a new cause. And I'm glad I did—now it seems we face something far worse."

Antonia nodded. "The Conclave destroyed, a giant hole in the sky—things aren't looking good."

"Which is why we're needed," Cullen said. "The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages, and now they sit there arguing about a new Divine while the Breach remains. But the Inqusition can still act, even if the Chantry won't. Our followers would be part of that. There's so much we can—" He stopped himself, gesturing at her training gear. "But you know all this, and I doubt you came out here for a lecture."

"Well, no," Antonia agreed. She grinned at him. "But if you have one prepared, I'd love to hear it."

Cullen laughed. "Another time, perhaps."

They looked at one another, and something shifted in the air between them. Up until that moment, Antonia had seen him as a mentor, as an older man who had been kind to her, as a friend. Now she realized with some surprise, looking up into his eyes, that Cullen was quite an attractive man, and she felt a warmth flow through her that she had not expected at all.

Whatever Cullen was thinking, it appeared to be just as unexpected to him, because he looked away, clearing his throat nervously. "There's … still a lot of work ahead," he said, but his voice was softer, somehow, than it had been a minute ago.

Fortunately for Antonia's peace of mind, and she imagined for Cullen's as well, they were interrupted by a scout reporting in. Cullen raised his eyebrows in her direction, with a small smile. "As I was saying." He left with the scout, leaving Antonia grateful that he seemed willing to ignore whatever had just happened between them.

She took to the practice ground with a ferocious intensity, trying to convince herself that this was neither the time nor the place for any feelings of that nature, but deep inside her that warmth still remained.


	2. An Epic Romance Begins

_Thanks, everyone, for the enthusiastic response to the first chapter! To say that I'm obsessed with writing this story would be an understatement, and I've been looking forward to posting chapter 2 all week. :) I hope you enjoy it!_

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_7 Bloomingtide, 9:41_

Closing the door to the Chantry's dining hall gently behind her, Antonia heaved a sigh of relief. It had been a long, tedious meal, during which she was stuck between a nobleman who recounted every bloody detail of every combat he'd ever been in while forking in great bleeding bites of the rare steak he had requested and a noblewoman who had minutely inspected every bite she took in. Antonia wasn't certain what she had been looking for.

Neither of them had contributed to Antonia's enjoyment of her own meal. She had been very happy when Josephine had given her the sign that it was time for her to retire—they had determined some time ago that Antonia's presence was not always conducive to good diplomacy. The nobles had a hard time talking business, in their tortuously oblique ways, when the Herald herself was present, and Antonia had little talent for such conversation. She knew how; that had been part of her training in childhood, but she had never excelled at the level Josephine did, and that was what was required in their current situation.

As she passed the entrance to the tombs, which doubled as a wine cellar, a loud _hsst_ caught her attention, and Varric appeared out of the shadows. Something inside his coat clinked, and he put his hand over it hastily, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"Good," he said. "I've been waiting for you. Come on, we're late."

"Late for what?"

"No time to talk, Herald." He looked up at her. "Do you trust me?"

"I … suppose."

"Then come on."

Intrigued, she followed him out of the Chantry. They took a sharp left into the cluster of huts there; the potion-master lived in one, Solas in another, and last she heard Dorian had commandeered the third. It was that one Varric led her to, and she was surprised to hear laughing voices within.

"What's this?"

"Do you always ask so many questions?" Varric knocked on the door in a particular pattern. It opened, and Antonia and Varric were whisked inside into the warmth of the room. Looking around, Antonia saw Dorian and Vivienne, and the Iron Bull sprawled across Dorian's bed for lack of a chair that would fit him.

"What are you all doing here?"

"We thought we could all use a break," Varric said, producing several bottles of wine from under his coat. Antonia happened to know that some of those were from Josephine's personal collection. "Fortunately, the wine bottles didn't feel the same." He grinned.

"All?" Antonia asked, looking around.

"Well … I asked Blackwall, and he looked at me as though he didn't understand the meaning of the word 'party' and walked away shaking his head. His loss." Dorian sighed, popping the cork on a wine bottle and filling a tankard. He offered it to Antonia.

Why not? she decided, and accepted it, taking an appreciative sip. It was _very_ good.

"I spoke to Sera," Vivienne said, "and she said something that might have been in Common and might have been in …" She looked around at the assembled company, and finished with, "Rivaini. I understood her to mean that she thinks we are all very boring. And thank the Maker for that." She accepted a tankard and breathed in the bouquet of the wine with a blissful smile on her face.

"Chuckles," Varric said, gesturing toward Solas's hut but using his pet nickname for the elf, "said that he was likely to see some of us in the Fade later, if we 'retained enough awareness to walk there,'" he finished, in a passable imitation of the elf.

All three of them turned to look at the Iron Bull, who looked abashed. "I … didn't ask Cassandra." He looked up. "Fine—she scares me. Are you all happy now?"

"And of course the triumvirate are all too big and grand for a simple little boozer like this," Varric said. He seemed to be watching Antonia very closely, and she decided not to leap to Cullen's defense. Cullen was still at that very boring dinner party, anyway, being courteous to a lot of stuffy nobles on the behalf of the cause she led. It was not at all his type of event, but every once in a while there was an ex-soldier he had to impress, and Antonia's dinner companion was one of those, so Cullen was stuck for the night. For a moment, she considered going back to liberate him, but the others all seemed to be having a good time here, and a chance to relax did sound nice.

"What gave you this idea, Varric?" she asked, taking the chair he pointed out.

"It's so serious around here. All anyone ever thinks about is doom and gloom and honor and self-sacrifice. It's damned depressing." He took a deep swallow and held his tankard out to be refilled. "Back in Kirkwall, we had the Hanged Man to go to—everyone had known Hawke before she became the big Champion, and it was one place we could all relax."

"Here there is no such place," Dorian said. "Everywhere you go, my dear girl, people melt away as though afraid they'll sully you if they so much as breathe on you."

That was true enough, Antonia reflected. Anytime she walked into a room, all conversation ceased. It was most disconcerting.

"We, as your companions, are treated similarly. There is little chance for us to spend time together without having the rest of the camp hanging on our every word, certain we will drop some variety of hint about you, or regarding the goals of the Inquisition or the inner workings." Vivienne sighed.

"So we thought we should get together, and it just so happened the Vint here—er, Dorian had a place to himself." The Bull swallowed the entire contents of his tankard in what appeared to be one long gulp.

"That is very expensive wine, my dear. You should savor it," Vivienne said.

He frowned into the tankard, clearly trying to decide if savoring would have been worth it. "Maybe I'll just have some more."

Sighing, Vivienne handed him a bottle. "Or you could do that."

"How _did_ you get a hut to yourself, Dorian?" Antonia asked.

"Why, how else? I walked in and claimed it. Someone was very surprised when he came home and found me here, but we … came to an arrangement." He raised one eyebrow suggestively.

"He means he paid the poor sod," Varric corrected. "So, how about it, Herald? You ready to drink some booze, have a few laughs—"

"Do a little dance, make a little love?" Dorian finished for him. All four faces turned to him in surprise, and he shrugged. "What? We were all thinking it. Anyone care to put coin down on who will be the first to … I believe 'knock boots' is your quaint little phrase?"

"Darling." Vivienne smiled at him. "If you had visited Orlais once upon a time you would know that Josephine and Leliana have already preceded us all in that matter."

"You don't say." The Bull's one remaining eye widened, then closed, and a smile spread across his face that left no doubt as to what he was picturing.

Vivienne gave an exaggerated shudder. "You are disgusting."

"Want to see how much?" Bull grinned at her.

"Children, children, settle down," Dorian said, waving at them both. "Antonia, dear girl, is there anything you want to do with your evening off?"

She sighed, leaning back, letting the warmth and the wine and the friendship in the room do their work. "I spend all day either fighting, or asking people questions. I think, if you don't mind, I would most enjoy just sitting here and listening."

"As you wish." He gave a courtly bow, or as much of one as he could do while seated. "Then I suppose it is up to us to be entertaining. Vivienne and I can do magic tricks, Varric can tell stories …" He looked at the Iron Bull, raising an eyebrow in question.

With a wild grin, the Bull sat up and proceeded to pop his pecs in a most impressive fashion.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's our show for the evening," Dorian said.

"Please tip your waitress." Varric proceeded to do so—tipping up a bottle over his own tankard to refill it.

"Varric, tell us about the Champion of Kirkwall, will you?" Antonia asked.

"You want to hear about Hawke? I thought you'd read my book."

"I believe, my dear, that she would like to hear some tales that didn't make the book," Vivienne said.

"Oh, those. Well … there's always the time Hawke found a peeping Tom in her wardrobe." Varric chuckled to himself before launching into the story.

Hours later, Antonia pushed herself up out of the chair. She had limited her consumption of wine, so she was relatively steady on her feet—as was Varric, she noticed. The Iron Bull was passed out snoring in Dorian's bed, while Dorian was staring broodily into the fire, the last bottle of wine in his hand.

"I don't know what it is about people from Tevinter, and wine, and fires, and brooding," Varric whispered to Antonia. "Fenris used to do it, too, for years. I always thought he'd get tired of it, but he never seemed to."

Vivienne had already left, wanting to get back to her quarters in the Chantry before the visiting nobles had finished their post-dinner negotiations.

"Should we … cover them up or something?" Antonia whispered to Varric, watching as Dorian's head nodded, his eyes closing. He kept his hold on the bottle, though.

"Nah, they'll be fine. Come on, Herald, I'll walk you home." When she looked about to protest, he grinned at her. "My tent's about ten feet from your door—it's not like I'm going out of my way."

"Gallantly put."

"That's me, last of the chevaliers."

After the heat of Dorian's hut, the night outside was refreshingly cool. Antonia lifted her face to the breeze.

"Sorry I couldn't find a way to get the Commander along," Varric said unexpectedly.

"What?"

"Now, Herald, don't go coy on me. I know longing looks when I see them—I certainly saw enough of them between Hawke and Broody. Eight years, or some ridiculous number like that." He shook his head. "I hope you know how to conduct an epic romance better than they did."

"Varric, I have no intention of conducting any romance, epic or otherwise."

"Oh, you say that now."

She did say it now—she said it to herself in the mirror every morning, trying to convince herself that the fluttering of her heart and the shortness of her breath at certain times when Cullen looked at her were passing fancies, and would go away if she ignored them long enough. So far nothing had helped. It wasn't just that he was an attractive man, although he was that. Since she'd first noticed, she'd made what she hoped was a surreptitious study of the subject, and had come to the conclusion that he was very fine-looking indeed. But he was also kind, and funny, and intelligent, and warm, and generous with his time and scrupulous in his responsibilities toward his men. Every day she found something else to like about him.

Varric was looking up at her knowingly, and she shook her head. "Do you know everything that goes on around here, Varric?"

"Only the things that make good stories." At her frown, he hastened to reassure her. "No one's telling anyone anything, Herald. Not until you say the word."

"Does … anyone else …" She didn't want to say 'know', because there was really nothing to know, except the way she foolishly couldn't keep her mind on the task at hand.

"Not that I can tell. Hm, possibly Sparkler," his nickname for Dorian, "but he likes you; he won't say anything. We all like you, Herald." Varric stopped walking, looking up at her with a rare seriousness on his face. "I know you think you can't handle this, and you're not special enough, and you're not ready, but we've all seen you—and we have your back. You can do this."

Antonia blinked back tears at his unexpected support. "Thank you, Varric."

"Anytime, my lady." He bowed before her. "And now, I believe we are at your door."

They were; she hadn't even noticed.

"Varric."

"Hm?"

"What would you do, in my place?"

"Oh, that's a loaded question, Herald. You might want to be more specific."

"About … what we were just talking about." She was certain her blush was visible across the camp.

"Ah. Sorry, Herald, I'm not one for romantic advice. I sleep with a crossbow, remember?"

"Do you really?"

"Better than a teddy bear." Varric winked at her, then sighed. "But if you really want my opinion—"

"You did work with the Champion, after all, and she— Well, when a person is in my position, or hers, and has the responsibility for so many people's lives on their hands, does she have the right—"

"To be responsible for her own life and happiness?" Varric finished for her.

"Exactly. Shouldn't my needs come last?"

"If they do, you'll burn yourself out. Look, what happened in Kirkwall—slowly but surely, it took from Hawke everything she valued. The only thing she ever got back from it was Fenris. And possibly me."

"Certainly you; I'm sure you were as indispensable to her as you are to me." Antonia smiled at him with affection.

"Aw, shucks, ma'am." He made a show of scuffing at the frozen dirt with the toe of his boot. "Seriously, though—if you don't take time out for something that makes you happy, something that matters to you, then someday there won't be enough of you left to care about the rest of it."

Antonia nodded. "That's a new way to think about it; I'll have to give it some consideration." She turned away toward her door. "Good-night, Varric."

"Herald?"

"What is it?" She turned back to look at him.

"What I said, about taking something that makes you happy … Before you decide that that's Cullen, be sure. He's been through a lot, and—well, call me a sap, but I wouldn't want to see either of you get hurt. I don't know if either of you could stand it, and I'm pretty sure the Inquisition couldn't."

It was a new blow to her hopes, just as she had started to let them rise. There was a vulnerable part to Cullen that she had only glimpsed occasionally, when he brushed up against certain topics in conversation, and she wouldn't want to have him hurt, or to lose the easy camaraderie between them.

"I wouldn't rush into anything, not with so much at stake," she said. "And I wouldn't hurt him for the world."

Varric smiled. "And an epic romance begins. Good-night, Herald."


	3. The Dark Shadow

_Friday again! Thanks to all of you for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing - you really make my day. _

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_28 Solace, 9:41_

This was far from the first time Cullen had prepared himself to die. It was practically getting to be a habit. And he didn't mind, necessarily—this life had not been so wonderful that he would regret laying it aside to go join the Maker, at least, not overmuch. What he regretted this time was that everything they had all worked toward in Haven would die, too, and with it, possibly the last hope for peace in Thedas.

It was only with reluctance that he had given the order to fall back to the Chantry on the appearance of the great dragon. Left to himself, he'd have stood and fought to the last drop of blood rather than run. But the men who fought under him had given as much as they could—they couldn't fight this dragon, and they deserved at least a chance to live. He imagined none of them were quite as prepared to give up their lives as he was.

Most of Haven was gathered in the Chantry, other than the Herald and the small team she had out with her, and they had been safely inside the gates of the village before he came to the Chantry.

She was there when he came into the main hall, and Cullen tried to stifle the immediate flood of relief he felt. He wasn't surprised to see that she had collected as many stragglers from the village as she could; she cared about the people who made up the Inquisition. He had seen her making the rounds of the village, talking to the people, something neither he nor Leliana nor Josephine had ever managed to find time to do. Cullen knew Antonia didn't think she was an important part of the Inquisition's leadership, but she didn't see the way people looked to her to decide what to do—and not just because of the mark on her hand.

"Herald," he said, drawing her attention. "Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us."

The strange spirit Cole, kneeling beside the injured Chancellor Roderick, spoke up. "I've seen an Archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that."

To Cullen, whether the dragon was actually an Archdemon or not was beside the point. Either way, it was going to destroy Haven. Time enough to worry about what it was after they decided how to deal with it. "I don't care what it looks like," he snapped. "It's cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!"

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole said. "He only wants the Herald."

Antonia seemed as exasperated by the boy's hints as Cullen was. "If you know why he wants me, just say it."

"I don't. He's too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you—no one else matters, but he'll crush them, kill them anyway. I don't like him."

Desperately, Cullen tried to make a plan. This was what he was good at, why they had put him in command of the Inquisition's armies. He was supposed to be able to find a way to fight this thing. But Haven was largely indefensible, surrounded by snow, and they were alone against an invading army they simply didn't have the force to stop.

"Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable." The words felt like acid on his tongue. He reached for the last weapon left. "The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide."

Antonia frowned. "We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven."

"You're right, we would. But we're dying anyway. At least we can decide how—many don't get that choice." He hated to have to say such a thing to someone so young and promising, with her whole life ahead of her. She was only about ten years younger than he was, but he felt as though he'd lived an age in those ten years ... something he reminded himself of every time he looked into her big brown eyes and found himself wanting things he should have known better than to think of.

Cole cut into the conversation again on Roderick's behalf, and the Chancellor explained about a hidden path out of Haven.

"What about it, Cullen?" Antonia asked him. "Will it work?"

"Possibly, if he shows us the path. But ... what of your escape?" They couldn't carry on this Inquisition without her.

She looked away from him, and a coldness settled around his heart. She would go anyway, even knowing there was no way out.

Of course she would—she would face the Elder One and his dragon, and let the rest of them escape. And the reason she had to do that was that he, Cullen, whose responsibility it had been to give her an army that could protect her, had failed. He wanted to insist that she let him stay behind; at least he could defend her himself. But the greater good demanded that he lead the people to safety, and give meaning to her sacrifice. "Perhaps ... you will surprise it, find a way ..." But it was unlikely at best, more probably impossible, and he was convincing no one, least of all Antonia. He made sure everyone was on their feet, following Chancellor Roderick as he limped along with his arm slung over Cole's shoulder. Once he saw people moving, he turned back to Antonia. A group of soldiers ran out to load the trebuchets for the last time. "Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line, if you can."

Antonia nodded, squaring her narrow shoulders. There was no hesitation in her, and he admired it and despaired over it at the same time.

"If we are to have a chance—if _you_ are to have a chance—" a hope he would cling to as long as he could— "let that thing hear you."

Her beautiful eyes wide, she nodded again. For a moment, he thought she was going to say something to him, and his heart leaped in spite of the situation they were in. Then she turned away, preparing to face the dragon.

Cullen left her before he could delay the moment by telling her any of the thousand things she made him feel. He hurried away while he still could, calling for the Inquisition to assemble behind Chancellor Roderick, and to move, for the Maker's sake. This one last thing he could do for her.

Standing above the tree line, watching the avalanche cover everything they had worked toward, Cullen felt the dark shadow that had been reaching out to touch him with its cold fingers recede again. First, during the Blight, when the Hero of Ferelden had released him from the demons' prison; then in Kirkwall, when Hawke had defended them all against the madness of Knight-Commander Meredith; and now in Haven, where the newest hero had given her life for their safety. How many more times would he escape that shadow before it closed over him at last?

The next morning found him putting together a pack of supplies. Leliana came to him. "Cullen, why are you doing this? She is gone; no one could have lived through that."

"She survived the Conclave; we don't know that something of similar unlikelihood didn't happen here." He shouldered the pack, looking down at Leliana with determination. "She stayed behind so we could escape; I won't leave her out there alone if there's even the smallest chance she's still alive." _Not when she's only there because I failed her_, he thought, but he didn't say that to Leliana. "At the very least, I can find her—her body, and see her properly to the Maker."

"It's a blizzard! How will you see anything?"

"How will she?" he countered.

"Commander?" Several soldiers stood there, looking at him anxiously. "Are you going after the Herald? Because we're going with you."

There was a chorus of agreement. Looking around, Cullen saw mages, Templars, Cassandra the Seeker, dwarves, elves, humans, the big Qunari the Iron Bull and his mercenaries, Dorian the Tevinter, all ready to go with him. In her sacrifice, Antonia Trevelyan had created an Inquisition, where before there had been only a small band of earnest people with little to nothing in common. Now, they were all coming together with one united goal. He hoped she had a chance to know what she had done.

He chose several of the biggest and strongest to come with him. It was undeniably hard going, the winds sharp and cutting into their faces, the snow so deep they were blazing new trails with every step, and visibility poor because it was all still swirling around in the air, the snow that had come down in the avalanche still settling.

Then he saw something ahead, and held up his hand for everyone to stop. His heart pounded, while his more rational brain told him it must be a wolf, or some other forest creature. But did wolves carry greatswords that glinted through the swirling snow?

"There! It's her!" He began to run as best he could. She was struggling toward them, but her steps were slowing, and as he came closer she fell to her knees, unable to go any further. Cullen dropped his pack, catching her before she could collapse fully into the snow. Her head fell back, her beautiful brown eyes hazy as they looked up into his. He thought perhaps she said something, maybe even his name, before she lost consciousness completely.

He carried her back to the refugee camp himself, with all her people behind him.


	4. The Dawn Will Come

_Bonus chapter today, because Christmas, among other reasons! Many thanks to all of you for reading - knowing you're enjoying this as much as I am is a gift every day. Special thanks and warm Christmas wishes to Oleander's One for suggestions, advice, hand-holding, and all-around support. _

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_30 Solace, 9:41_

Antonia shifted restlessly in the blankets. She was still cold and weakened from her long ordeal in the snow, despite Dorian's fire spells and the hot soup Josephine had brought her and the warm blankets Varric had parted with. Sleeping in bedrolls in the open air wasn't helping her—or any of them. She knew the Inquisition was looking to her to lead them, to tell them what to do and where to go, but she didn't know any better than they did. And her advisors—

She winced, listening to the raised voices. They were at it again.

"What would you have me tell them?" Cullen was saying. "This isn't what we asked them to do."

Cassandra snapped back at him. "We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way."

"And who put you in charge?" he asked. "We need a consensus, or we have nothing."

Antonia put a hand to her head. No one was getting any sleep at this rate.

"Please, we must use reason," Josephine pleaded. "Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"

"That can't come from nowhere!" Cullen shouted.

Antonia had never heard him so angry, and she wondered why. They were all in the same boat, after all—the soldiers weren't suffering any more than anyone else. Possibly they were in better shape for being more used to living outdoors. But she hadn't had a chance to talk to him at all, so perhaps there was more to his anger than that.

He had come by once or twice in the last few days while she had been recovering, but only to offer a courteous wish for her continued well-being. She hadn't even had the chance to thank him for leading the rescue party—if he hadn't, she might very well have frozen to death there in the snow.

"She didn't say it could!" Leliana snapped back at Cullen. Antonia rubbed her forehead, wishing she could yell at them all to just shut up.

Cassandra shouted, "Enough! This is getting us nowhere!"

"Well, we're agreed on that much," Cullen said bitingly.

Antonia sat up, prepared to charge into the middle of them, but just the movement made her dizzy.

Next to her, Mother Giselle said, "Sh. You need rest. And food." She put a warm piece of skillet bread into Antonia's hands. "You have to rebuild your strength."

"Who can rest?" Antonia said, devouring the bread. "They've been at it for hours. Is there any more?"

Mother Giselle chuckled and gave her an apple. "They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow ... and with time to doubt, we turn to blame."

"That's not productive."

"No. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus."

Antonia rubbed her temples. It was all so hazy; she could dimly remember Corypheus flying off on his corrupted dragon. "Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are now?"

Mother Giselle smiled a little. "We are not sure where _we_ are. Which may be why despite the numbers he still commands, there has been no sign of him. That, or he believes you dead. Or, without Haven, we are believed helpless. Or he readies for another attack."

"None of those are exactly comforting," Antonia said.

From across the camp, Cullen could see her deep in conversation with Mother Giselle. He was glad to note that she was sitting up, and there appeared to be some color in her face again. Since he had brought her back to camp, he hadn't been able to bring himself to go near her other than for the few minutes courtesy demanded; seeing her white, wan face and hearing her voice, so feeble, brought home to him exactly how close it had been. And that had been his fault, because he hadn't been prepared for Corypheus.

"Cullen, I do not know what you expect us to do," Leliana said, calling him back to the argument at hand.

"We can't just sit here!"

"We know that," Cassandra snapped. "Yelling at us that the situation is untenable does not make it more tenable." She was looking at him with measuring eyes, and he wondered if she could tell that the effects of the lyrium withdrawal had been worse recently. He was feverish, which was always a bad sign.

On the other side of the fire, Mother Giselle looked kindly at Antonia. "Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand ... and fall. And now we have seen her return."

Antonia sighed heavily. She had had just about enough of this.

"The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained." Mother Giselle must have seen the immediate negation that rose to Antonia's lips, because she smiled and raised a hand. "That is hard to accept, no? What 'we' have been called to endure? What 'we', perhaps, must come to believe?"

"Mother Giselle, I am not touched by Andraste, and we were not meant to be here. Our own actions brought us here—Chancellor Roderick's path, and Cole's ability to hear his thoughts, and Commander Cullen's leadership."

"It is hard for others to view it that way—they want to see protection where you see none, to see ordination where you see free will. And the people know what they saw." She lifted her head and looked at Cullen across the camp.

Cullen saw Mother Giselle's eyes on him, and he turned around so that he wouldn't be tempted to look again. Until the attack on Haven, he had thought of Antonia as a beautiful woman, yes, and a strong and intelligent and courageous one, but he hadn't realized how important she had become to him personally until he had had to leave her; until he had gone back to find her and been unable to contemplate what he would do if she were truly lost somewhere beneath the snow.

Now he was caught somewhere between duty and inclination, between the oaths he had sworn to the Inquisition and what he owed to her. He wanted to go to her and apologize, to assure himself that she was recovering from her ordeal, to ... to touch her and feel that she was truly real.

But the Inquisition needed him more, and they needed her recovered, so he had kept his distance, renewing to himself the vow he had made to serve the Inquisition to the best of his ability—and further dedicating himself to ensuring that what had happened in Haven would never be allowed to happen again. Which meant somewhere more secure than this tent city, somewhere they could defend.

Cullen had known a fair number of women in the course of his life—other Templars, mages, citizens of Kirkwall, and now, of course, he was the only man in the leadership of the Inquisition. So he had had to get used to spending time around women, but he had never felt as comfortable with a woman as he was with Antonia, never enjoyed talking to someone as much. She was very well-read, interested in learning new things, quick to pick up on new concepts, and her warmth and humor set her apart from all the other women he had ever known.

If he had needed one final thing to cement his opinion of her, she had chosen to sacrifice herself for the good of them all—chosen without hesitation or doubt. His feelings ever since made it impossible for him to deny that what he felt for her went beyond friendship. He had no illusions about how poorly timed or how unlikely to be reciprocated those feelings were, but he could no longer pretend to himself not to have them.

He drew his attention back to the camp, realizing that he was now standing alone. Josephine and Leliana had wearied of the argument, sitting together. He had never seen Leliana look so defeated. She sat with her knees drawn up, her face buried in her folded arms. Josephine, next to her, looked so out of place here in her shiny satin blouse—she must be freezing, Cullen thought.

Cassandra was standing over his maps, looking desperately for answers. And he? What would he do now? Surely there was something he could do of value—but he couldn't seem to think properly, the familiar headache tightening at his temples. The whispers would come next, the shadows of his past coming back to haunt him, and he thought of the box hidden among his things. Did he owe it to the Inquisition to take the lyrium right now, to be working at his peak capabilities?

He heard movement behind him, and looked around to see Antonia on her feet, for the first time since the avalanche. His heart lifted; despite the look of weariness in her face, it was good to see her up and about.

Mother Giselle's voice came from behind Antonia, raised in song. An old song, one Cullen had not heard in years, but it was familiar, and it caught the attention of everyone in camp.

Leliana lifted her head, looking at Mother Giselle as she came to stand next to Antonia; Josephine and Cassandra looked up as well.

And then Leliana's clear, pure voice joined in the second verse, and around Cullen the people came gathering, voice after voice joining in the song. Across the space between them he looked at Antonia—she had survived, he reminded himself. Whatever had happened, she had survived, the Inquisition had survived, and there was time to rebuild better than what Haven had had to offer. He, too, lifted up his voice and joined in the song, and the shadows that had been gathering around him receded for now.

Antonia could hear Cullen's voice, mellow and deep and smooth, above everyone else's, and she focused on it, feeling it soothe the aching of her head and warm her all through. People were gathering from all around them, coming into the small clearing of tents. And all around her they were kneeling ... to her, she realized with some dismay.

She wanted to tell them to get up; she was no one to kneel to. She was only a woman, just like them, she thought, get up, get up! But next to her, Mother Giselle gestured to her to look around her, to see the difference. They were singing; they had hope and new strength, and if kneeling to her, looking on her as some kind of leader was the way to get there, perhaps she had to let them. Clinging to her own stubborn belief in who she was mattered to her, but it didn't help the Inquisition, not today.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the one person, other than herself, who wasn't singing. Solas stood, watching them all. It made sense that he might not know the song ... but the look on his face was more than that. It sent a shiver down Antonia's back, although she couldn't have said why, and she wanted to enfold the rest of the Inquisition and pull them to her, to protect them.

In that moment, she accepted her role; whatever it cost her, she would be the leader they needed her to be.


	5. As Am I

_Skyhold at last! Now we'll have some fun. Thanks to all of you for reading - have a happy and safe New Year, and I'll see you next Friday. :)_

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_21 August, 9:41_

Antonia came down the steps of Skyhold, looking around her at the hustle and bustle. She wasn't sure which she found more astonishing—that a structure this large and this perfect for the Inquisition had just been sitting here in the mountains conveniently near Haven; that Solas had somehow known it was there; or that so much work had already been done in making it livable.

Most of them were still living in tents, but jumbles of furnishings had been found lying around in the turrets and in various corners, so Antonia was certain that they would all be sorted out in time and places found for everyone.

And she knew exactly who to credit with much of the organization. While Leliana had focused on putting her spy network back in place, and Josephine was occupied in making sure their contacts from other countries knew how to find them, and were physically able to get up the roads, Cullen had been the one to take on the burden of putting Skyhold together. He had, admittedly, thrown himself into its fortifications with a feverish intensity that caused some concern in the rest of the leadership, but it needed to be done, and Antonia could hardly have ordered him to stand down because she was vaguely disquieted by his manner. She did have the power to give orders now, having stopped fighting against what appeared to be her destiny and accepted the title and responsibilities of Inquisitor. If the rest of them felt she was strong enough to handle the role and powerful enough to act as the public face of the Inquisition, she would trust their judgment.

She hadn't spoken to Cullen much since the attack on Haven, too afraid that she would say more than she should. They were still colleagues, but the friendly chats they had shared in Haven had gone by the wayside. Antonia just didn't trust herself near him.

After the night of drinking with her companions, and Varric's advice, she had tried to put her feelings for Cullen aside, telling herself that if they were real, she would know it, and until that point there was little value, and much distraction, in dwelling on them.

Well, she knew it now. The moment when the Chantry was their last safe harbor in Haven, when Cullen had readied himself to lead their people out to safety and she had prepared to go and meet Corypheus and his dragon, when she had known she was most probably going to die without seeing him again—that was it. Watching him turn and leave, as she knew he must, knowing she was not going to get to say good-bye—knowing, further, that since there was a good chance neither of them would survive there was little point in bringing up hopes that could never come to fruition— There was no longer any doubt in her heart. Cullen had become dearer to her than any man she had ever known.

But the Inquisition wasn't ready for her to take her focus off it, not yet. So she had kept her conversations with Cullen as superficial as she could, just to avoid saying all the things that she wished she could have said to him in the Chantry. For that matter, Antonia wasn't entirely convinced that Cullen shared her feelings. She thought so, but it was hard to be certain. He was so driven, so ... obsessed with rebuilding Skyhold, that there was little energy left in him for anything else.

He was down in the lower courtyard right now, bent over plans for building fortifications. Watching him, screened by a giant bush, Antonia was struck by how much she had missed him. Avoiding him had been the wisest course, but it had cost her, as well. She missed his warm support and their conversations on training tactics and fortifications, which often branched out into history and mathematics and various sciences. Cullen wasn't quite as well-read as she was—which wasn't surprising, since he hadn't spent his childhood alone in a library—but he picked things up quickly and read very fast. Often they'd discuss a book he hadn't read and a couple of days later he'd have finished it.

Without entirely meaning to, Antonia found herself moving carefully down the mossy stairs toward him. She decided to go with it, as Cullen was surrounded by several of his men, giving orders at a rapid clip. With so many people around, the chances of her saying more than she meant to were limited.

But as Antonia approached somehow they all dispersed, leaving her functionally alone with Cullen. He was bent over the blueprints in front of him, looking up only as she came to stand next to him. Gesturing to the blueprints, he said, "We set up as best we could in Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon—or whatever that was." He rubbed the back of his neck, closing his eyes. Exhaustion was written in every line of his face. "Here, perhaps we could do better. Even in Haven, given some warning, we might have—"

Concerned by the feverish light in his eyes, Antonia interrupted him to ask, "Do you ever sleep? Or eat?" She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him at one of the communal meals.

Cullen straightened, frowning down at her. "If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw—and I wouldn't want to. Which means strengthening Skyhold's defenses to the fullest extent possible." His jaw tightened. "We will not run from here, Inquisitor."

"Do we have a full count of how many were lost yet?" Antonia asked.

"Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the title of Inquisitor."

For the life of her, Antonia couldn't understand what the people saw in her. She'd heard the rumors that she had died at Haven and come to life again, or that Andraste herself had protected her; but she knew the truth, that sheer luck had blown her into a cavity that was largely protected from the avalanche, and even better luck had seen to it that the last of the avalanche uncovered the cavity so she could get out. It was better luck still that anyone had been looking for her.

No, she thought, looking up at him, that wasn't luck—that was Cullen. He had led the rescue party himself, and it had been his dear face that had been the last thing she saw before losing consciousness from the cold and shock.

"Inquisitor?" he asked, prodding her to speak.

She gave a self-deprecating smile. "Inquisitor Trevelyan. I wasn't really looking for another title. It sounds odd, doesn't it?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not at all."

Raising her eyebrows, Antonia asked, "Is that the official response?"

She was relieved to hear him laugh. It had been a long time. "I suppose it is," he said. "But it is the truth. We needed a leader, and you have proven yourself."

"Thank you, Cullen." He smiled; the support she had come to rely on was in his face, and the rush of relief she felt seeing the haunted, driven look he'd been wearing recede was so strong she found herself speaking before she thought. "Our escape from Haven was close. I am relieved that you—" She caught herself. "That so many made it out."

"As am I," Cullen said softly. Their eyes caught and held. Antonia could hardly breathe.

Then Cullen looked down, and the moment was gone. Disappointed, but whether in him or herself or the whole sorry situation she didn't know, Antonia turned to go, but was stopped by his voice behind her.

He spoke softly, but there was emotion behind each word-determination, guilt, and something more. "You stayed behind. You could have—" He swallowed hard, and his face set again into those hard, determined lines she had come to know since they had arrived in Skyhold. "I will not allow the events of Haven to happen again. You have my word."

Cullen turned back to his blueprints, and Antonia walked off in a daze. Was that why he was pushing himself, and his men, at such a punishing pace? Did he blame himself because she had gone out to meet Corypheus on her own?

Her heart went out to him—after all, she'd spent more than a few sleepless nights blaming herself for the way the attack on Haven had gone. The best thing, she decided, was to let things get settled here, let him work out his demons on the walls of Skyhold.

And then? Then she would see.


	6. Filled with Earnestness

_Happy New Year! Very glad to be sharing this story with all of you - thank you for reading!_

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_28 August, 9:41_

Leaning back in her chair, Antonia sighed. One last letter for the day, and she couldn't seem to get it finished.

"Are you finally done with those tiresome papers, my dear?" Dorian asked, looking up from his book. He was stretched out on the settee in her quarters, perusing a volume of early Fereldan poetry, alternately wincing and laughing. "I thought we were going to play chess."

"We are, just as soon as I finish writing this letter. Some Nevarran noble has offered to give us a lot of money if he gets a personal blessing in writing from the Inquisitor."

"No doubt he'll keep it in his boudoir, to look at as he goes to bed at night." He winked at her over the top of his book, leaving no doubt as to what he thought the noble would be doing at the time.

"Don't be filthy."

"You're no fun."

"You have a strange definition of fun, my friend."

"Someone around here has to." Dorian put the book down on his chest and grinned at her. "Skyhold is lovely, but everyone's so serious."

"You think that has something to do with the thousand-year-old darkspawn and the dragon?" Antonia picked up her pen again, determined to finish this ridiculous blessing. "They did destroy Haven."

"Ah, but no. _You_ destroyed Haven; Corypheus and his dragon were merely the reason."

"Don't remind me." She shivered. Sometimes she dreamed she was still there, either facing the dragon and Corypheus knowing she was going to die, or trapped in the air pocket under the snow, unable to get out. "There should have been another way."

Dorian swung his legs over the side of the settee, sitting up and looking at her intently. "Everyone was already out; there was nothing left there but empty buildings."

"I suppose."

"You're as much a perfectionist as the Commander. If things don't go exactly right—"

"Dorian, people died!"

"This is war, Antonia; that's what happens in war."

"I know." She tossed aside the pen, heedless of the ink spatters on the paper. She wasn't going to finish that letter today anyway. Getting up from behind the desk, she walked to the open doors leading on to her balcony and looked out into the mountains in the direction of Haven. "No, that's wrong. I didn't know. I'd never been in combat before, not like that. I'd fought, but mostly me against someone else. To be in Haven and watch those men fall on my behalf—" She looked down at the mark on her hand, then closed the hand into a fist so she wouldn't have to see it any longer. "I wasn't prepared for it."

"You did it superbly." Dorian came up behind her. "You put yourself in front; you stood between all of us and the danger. I was there in the Chantry—there was no hesitation in you. I followed you to face Corypheus and his dragon; I didn't do that out of any death wish of my own, I can assure you." He chuckled. "I quite like living."

"Then why did you?"

"Because you were doing the right thing, and you made me want to as well."

Antonia turned to look at him. "You're very serious today."

"It's the air. It's filled with earnestness."

"Is it? That explains a few things." She wandered out onto the balcony, looking over the muddy courtyards of Skyhold. People were busy down there, building and cleaning and digging, and here she was and she couldn't write one ridiculous letter.

"You see? You just felt it, right there."

"It's hard not to."

She caught sight of a familiar blond head moving in the lower courtyard. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she could even hear his voice.

"He does set a rather high standard, doesn't he?" Dorian said softly.

"Maybe too high." Antonia turned away.

"Still haven't worked up the courage to tell him?"

She shook her head, going back inside her quarters.

"Why ever not?"

Antonia groaned, sinking down on the end of her bed. "Dorian, this whole Inquisition thing—I don't know what I'm doing, and they made me Inquisitor and—he stood behind me, the way he always has ... What if I tell him how I feel and he thinks it's wildly inappropriate of me to be thinking of such things at such a time?"

"My dear, if you could see the way he looks at you when you're not looking at him, you would know better." Dorian leaned against the doorframe, his mustache twitching as he smiled. "It's really quite adorable."

"Adorable? Dorian, I think you're the only person in Skyhold, possibly in Thedas, who would refer to the Inquisitor and the Commander of the Inquisition as adorable."

"Which is why you love me."

"It is." They smiled at one another. Being sent forward in time together had created a bond between them; they were the only two people in Skyhold who knew firsthand the future they were trying to save the world from. Beneath his innate flippancy, Dorian was as committed to the cause as any of them. "You know, if you have time to watch Cullen watching me, as you say he does—"

Dorian snorted at the qualification.

"Then maybe we need to find someone for you," Antonia continued, ignoring him. "Now, let's see." She drew her knees up to her chest and looked at him thoughtfully.

Rolling his eyes, Dorian said, "This should be good."

Briefly she considered Varric, but they were really too similar, and she wasn't sure if men were Varric's thing. Or if Varric even had a thing. If not Varric, then— "A-ha! I have it. He's perfect for you."

Dorian looked at her skeptically.

"Krem! He's Tevinter, like you, so you'd have things to talk about, and he has a lot of fascinating stories about the Chargers. Also, he's very cute. If I was a man, I'd be highly tempted."

"Please. Don't be ridiculous," Dorian said. "If you were a man, you'd still be drooling over that attractive Commander of yours, only with less favorable prospects." He gave an exaggeratedly wistful sigh. "And I think it's quite possible you would have better luck with Krem than I would. For that matter, aren't Krem and the Iron Bull a thing?"

"I think only sometimes; it's not clear. But the more the merrier, right?" She winked at him. "Didn't the Iron Bull offer to buy you dinner if you'd let him chain you up like a Qunari mage?"

Dorian choked. "That's not quite how it went."

"Which conversation are you remembering?"

"He wasn't serious! And neither was I!" Dorian protested. Antonia raised her eyebrows at him, and he groaned. "You're terrible. I wouldn't have thought it was possible, but I believe you may have spent too much time with me."

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_A/N: If you're a Dorian fan, you should head over to JayRain's profile and check out her story "The Magician". JayRain, I hope my Dorian measures up!  
_


	7. Maker Go with You

_Many thanks to all of you for reading, for reviewing, and for setting the story on Alerts and Favorites!_

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_31 August, 9:41_

It was dark in Cullen's office at this hour of the morning, the candles guttering on his desk the sign of his long night of work. It had been a better night than usual—he had spent a good four hours in the bed in the loft above him, much of that in actual sleep. Now that the fever had broken, he felt a little better, but there was still much work to be done, and that kept him awake as much as the nightmares did.

Cullen studiously kept his eyes off the box on the highest shelf of the bookcase. It could provide him a night's sleep, but at a cost he wasn't willing to pay. He kept it there to remind himself every day of the choice he had made to put all that behind him.

In some ways, his insomnia made things easier, because the only time his office wasn't filled with a constant stream of demands on his time and attention was the middle of the night. If he slept like normal people, he'd never get anything done.

He was pleased with tonight's work; he had a stack of dispatches to send once his messengers got up, and had earned a few moments with a book. Cullen ran his fingers along the spines of the volumes on one overstuffed shelf. After a lifetime of not owning anything, his first goal had been to surround himself with as many books as he could. Of course, other than a small stack of beloved volumes up in the loft, these all truly belonged to the Inquisition, purchased with Inquisition funds. But he had chosen them, and in every way that mattered they were his, at least, as long as he could hold fast against the lyrium.

He chose a book and sat down with it, but it was hard to focus on the words. He was just at the wrong level of tiredness—tired enough not to be able to be productive but also tired enough that his resistance was low, which meant the whispers of old fears and remembered demons in his ears … and not yet so tired that he could sleep.

To avoid looking at the box again, Cullen looked at the clock. It was getting on toward that time. He put the book away, then turned from the shelves and went out the door onto the battlements. The sky above the mountains was just turning grey. He could see the change, but down below in the courtyard they wouldn't see it for another few minutes. Just one of the many reasons he liked being so far up—he greeted each sunrise with glad relief, symbolizing as it did another night's victory against the lyrium, and another day that he could continue commanding the forces of the Inquisition.

If Cassandra ever told him he must step down, he would go without protest; he had promised himself that much dignity. But it would break his heart. He had never felt this drive to succeed before, never had a task before him that demanded so many of his talents, or forced him to learn so much. And he loved every day of it. His soldiers had come together at Haven and fought with everything they had, obeying his orders without question. They had come far enough from that day that he could evaluate what had happened without that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the whole debacle was his fault, but the failure there still left him with something to prove—to himself, if to no one else. And to the men he led, that next time they would prevail.

Thinking of Haven reminded him of the woman they had come so close to losing there, and he moved to the edge of the battlement to look down into the courtyard. As he had expected, Antonia was there, preparing for the expedition to Emprise-du-Lion she was leading out. He tried to think of her as "Inquisitor", as he was so scrupulously careful to call her, but somehow he couldn't. Thinking of her as "Antonia" in the privacy of his thoughts was the one liberty he allowed himself.

Far below, Varric was with her, as he so often was, whispering something to her that made her laugh.

Cullen couldn't really hear her laugh from up here, but he could imagine it, and it made him smile in response. She had no way of knowing what her sense of humor did for them all, but he could see it. His role was to be disciplined, Leliana's to be secretive, Josephine's to be dignified. Antonia bridged the gap between the three of them and the rest of the Inquisition. Just as in Haven, she spent her time when in residence at Skyhold visiting as many people as she could, listening to their needs, and she got things done. They all missed her when she was away from the keep.

But none as much as he did, or so he imagined. Sometimes it felt as though she took all the color with her when she left, and only when she returned was everything crisp and sharp and bright again.

It was foolish to feel this way about her; he told himself that every day. She was the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, and such a beautiful woman, with her expressive eyes and her delicate face and her slender frame. Cullen always found it surprising to watch her hefting a greataxe, because she didn't look strong enough for such a weapon. But he'd seen her use the pommel to lay the Iron Bull flat on his back with a single blow, so he knew how deceptive her air of fragility really was. Added to that her intelligence and her easy humor and warmth, and there wasn't a man in Thedas she couldn't have at a crook of her finger. The idea that she might turn those beautiful eyes on a damaged ex-Templar ten years her senior was too incredible for Cullen to imagine it possible, despite the occasional meeting of glances that sped up his pulse and cut off his breathing and left him thinking things he shouldn't.

Down below they had finished loading the horses. Vivienne and Antonia were astride their mounts, and Cassandra was halfway through the gates on hers, impatient to be going as she always was. Varric was fussing over stowing his beloved crossbow, and the other three started off without him. At last the dwarf was satisfied. Before turning his horse in the direction of the gates, he looked up at where Cullen stood and waved, and Cullen stepped hastily back. That dwarf seemed to know everything that went on in Skyhold, and the last thing Cullen needed was to have his hopeless ... attraction to the Inquisitor bandied about.

Crossing to the other side of the battlements, he watched them until the last horse had disappeared down the mountain road. "Maker go with you," he said softly, then turned back to his office. The sun had reached it, but it seemed suddenly very dim.

* * *

_A/N: First - you'll notice I've added dates to the beginning of each chapter, so you - and I! - can keep track of the timeline. I use the Fereldan calendar located at swooping-is-bad. livejournal 663380. html (minus the spaces, naturally), but I think you can also find it on the Wiki. _

_Second - I think you should know that for many reasons, some personal, I have not made any attempt to make Cullen's reaction to the lack of lyrium bear a resemblance to withdrawal from addiction in the real world. Hopefully that won't bother anyone too much. _


	8. A Fortunate Day for the Inquisition

_Bonus chapter today because I finally finished my first of what will no doubt be many playthroughs of the game last night! Many thanks to all of you for reading and particularly for the response to the last chapter - I admit I was nervous about it._

* * *

_8 Kingsway, 9:41_

Antonia knocked at the door of Cullen's office.

"Yes, what is it?" came the impatient response from inside.

She poked her head in the door. "Rough day?"

"Oh, Inquisitor, it's you. I'm sorry." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It seems as though everyone and their brother has been through here today."

"And now I'm bothering you. I could go away, if you're too busy."

"No! I mean, no, it's fine. What can I do for you?"

"Well, in truth, nothing," Antonia said, rather guiltily. "I was really just looking for a quiet place to get away from it all."

"And you came here, of all places?" He raised an eyebrow. "Are your quarters not to your liking?"

From the look on his face, Antonia suspected he'd had a hand in the design of her living space, which had been largely finished in her absence at Emprise-du-Lion. She hastened to reassure him. "No, no, they're lovely. But—" _But you're not in them_, was what she wanted to say. She wasn't ready to take things there, though, not yet. Cullen was so focused on following the tracks of Samson, Corypheus's general—she could tell he felt responsible for the man's crimes, since Samson, however briefly, had once been Cullen's fellow Templar; they had shared quarters together in Kirkwall. She wanted to get that situation resolved, at least somewhat, before she made any overtures of a personal nature. Instead, she settled for, "But they're on the other side of Skyhold; do you have any idea how many people there are between here and my quarters?"

Cullen laughed. "As many as have been in and out of this office this morning, no doubt." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Have a seat. I could bar the doors, if you like, to ensure no one else comes in."

"Please." It came out far more flirtatiously than she had intended, and Cullen's ears turned red.

"Um. Right. Well …" He cleared his throat. "It has occurred to me more than once today that having three doors into my office is possibly three too many."

"Then there would be no doors at all. How would I be able to come in and bother you?"

"That's a ... good point." His voice had taken on that soft, wondering tone that made Antonia's heart pound in her chest. Their eyes met and held. But Cullen blinked and looked away, and the moment passed. In a different voice, he asked, "So how was your trip to Emprise-du-Lion?"

"Cold." She shivered.

"Really."

"Yes, apparently they were hit with a very rapid deep freeze—something the Red Templars did, most believe."

"And you found more red lyrium?"

"Quite a bit. We destroyed as much of it as we could. Varric took a lot of pleasure in that."

"He would. Do you know about his brother?"

Antonia nodded. "The story was in his book about the Champion. Is it true?"

"Yes. They found a red lyrium idol in the Deep Roads, and it drove Varric's brother mad. And Knight-Commander Meredith." Cullen's eyes were on the wall behind her, but she could tell that he was seeing horrors. "She's now a red lyrium statue."

"Terrible." She waited until Cullen had come back from wherever the story had taken him—Kirkwall, she imagined—to ask, "Did you ever meet Varric's brother?"

"No. I knew Hawke and the rest of her people, but I was an active Templar at the time, with limited freedom." He looked around his office in evident satisfaction at the change in his fortunes. "By the time I was promoted to Knight-Captain and thus able to get out and about the city a bit more, Bartrand had left Kirkwall." In a different tone, signaling a change in topic, he said, "So, tell me, did anything interesting happen while you were in Emprise?"

Antonia laughed a little. "There was the bear."

"What about it? Bears aren't usually so amusing."

"It kept following us. Even as we were heading down into the quarry, it was following us, climbing on the equipment and running into people. I told everyone that as long as it wasn't attacking us, to leave it alone—I thought if it was coming to the quarry with us, perhaps I could get it to fight the Red Templars and save us some work."

Cullen raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. "I take it that hope failed to come to fruition?"

"Yes. Just as we reached the Red Templars, Vivienne apparently thought it would be a good idea to shoot the bear with lightning, in order to make it angry, so it would attack the Red Templars. Instead …"

"It attacked you, and you were fighting a battle on two fronts." The smile had faded from Cullen's face, and he was looking at her with concern.

"Something like that." Antonia nodded. "It was close there for a bit … but I can't help thinking of that great bear stumbling around the quarry. Quite entertaining, really."

"Entertaining." Cullen shook his head. "We tend to forget, I think, sitting here at our comfortable desks, what you're facing out in the field. I'm sorry that the brunt of all this falls on your shoulders."

"Really, Cullen, it's all right. My companions are very reliable—most of the time—and I think it's important that the people see that the Inquisitor herself is out there working toward a better future for all of us. I think I closed most of the rifts in the area." She looked down at her left hand, the mark pulsing faintly.

"Does that hurt?" Cullen asked.

"Only sometimes. It feels better after I close a rift, but burns before." Antonia closed her fist. She wanted to tell him how much she hated having it there, how it disturbed her to see a part of her body glowing such an unnatural color, how she worried about whether it would ever come off ... but probably those were unworthy emotions for an Inquisitor, and she very much didn't want Cullen to think she was trying to shirk her responsibilities, or worse, whine about them.

He was watching her sympathetically, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Antonia mustered a smile. "Still, all things considered, we got some things done in Emprise and the Inquisition is in better standing there. Except with people who like bears."

Cullen didn't return the smile, but at least his frown went away. "All I can say is, it was a fortunate day for the Inquisition when you fell out of the sky."

Antonia stood up. "You know, it's taken a while, but there are days when I almost believe that. Thank you for letting me distract you for a while, Commander."

"Anytime, Inquisitor."


	9. A Deeply Honorable Man

_Friday again! I hope you all had a good week. Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_12 Kingsway, 9:41_

After breakfast one morning, Cullen approached Antonia as she was about to head for the training ground. "Can I speak with you later? It's … important." He looked as nervous as she had ever seen him.

For a moment, her heart leaped in her chest, until over Cullen's shoulder she happened to catch Cassandra watching them with a concerned expression on her face. If Cassandra was concerned, and openly showing it, this conversation wasn't likely to be one Antonia would be happy about. Of course, she thought, Cassandra could be jealous—it was always possible Cassandra was attracted to Cullen. But Antonia had seen no sign of that.

"Of course," she said to Cullen. He did not look noticeably relieved by her assent, which only confirmed her suspicions that she wasn't going to like whatever he had to say.

Varric caught up to her as she left the dining hall. "You going to tell Commander Loverboy how you feel, finally?"

"I thought I asked you to stop calling him that," she hissed, looking around to be sure no one had overheard.

"That's right, you did." Varric's cheeky grin said he had taken that as a suggestion, rather than as the command it had been meant to be.

"And no. Whatever it is he wants to talk about, it looks like it would be a bad time to broach the topic."

"Really?" He raised his eyebrows. Then he said, "Oh. Huh."

"What?"

"It's just … I have an inkling what there might be for the two of you to talk about. And if I'm right, Herald—go easy on him."

"When have I ever been hard on any of you?"

"Well, never so far, but you never can tell when someone's going to say the wrong thing and that scary equanimity of yours will snap."

Antonia frowned at him. "I have 'scary equanimity'?"

"Damn right you do. You never get mad—except in combat, but everyone does that. Why don't you ever get mad? Even Hawke got mad. Usually at Fenris; or her mother."

"Look who's talking. I've never seen you angry, either, even when Cassandra was beating you up for hiding Hawke from her."

"Point taken, Herald. Or should I call you Inquisitor? Always so hard to give up on a good nickname."

"I don't suppose I could prevail on you to call me Antonia. It does get tiresome not being called by my own name."

"Not my style."

"Well, I suppose if I have to have a nickname, I'd rather be Herald than Chuckles. Or Sparkler. Not that Dorian minds that one; I think he rather likes it."

Varric chuckled. "He likes everything, which is part of his charm." He paused near the table, cozily placed in front of the fire, where he kept his writing things. "This is where I leave you. Don't you have an appointment higher up?"

"Later, he said. And strangely, I don't find myself in a hurry." Antonia glanced apprehensively in the direction of Cullen's office.

"Don't make him wait too long."

With the dwarf's advice ringing in her ears, Antonia set out across the courtyard. She spoke to the merchants for a bit, long enough to watch Cullen mounting the stone stairs to his office. His steps were slow, a far cry from his usual brisk pace. She decided Varric was right—whatever it was, it was best to get it over with quickly.

Cullen looked up as she came in. There was a small wooden box open in the middle of his desk, but Antonia couldn't see at first what was in it.

"As leader of the Inquisition, you …" He sighed. "There is something I must tell you."

"Whatever it is, I'm willing to listen."

"Right. Thank you." He inclined his head a little, then looked down at the box again. Antonia followed his gaze. To her surprise, it contained a syringe and some vials of a blue liquid. She looked at him questioningly, and Cullen nodded. "Lyrium gives us our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer—some go mad, others die."

So this was what he had wanted to talk to her about. No wonder he had had to nerve himself up for the discussion.

"We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Inquisition's Templars, but I … no longer take it."

"You stopped?" she asked, greatly surprised.

"When I joined the Inquisition." He stared at the box, one hand rising toward it just slightly before falling back to the desk. "It's been months now."

"Cullen, if this can kill you …" Antonia stopped. She didn't know what he must be going through, what he had been going through all this time; ever since she'd known him. Her respect for him increased, knowing that he had accomplished everything that he had—been the rock the Inquisition was built upon, in many ways—while battling the effects of lyrium withdrawal. But they couldn't afford to lose him, either ... neither the Inquisition nor Antonia herself.

"It hasn't yet." There were lines of suffering in his face that hadn't been there before—or perhaps Antonia had never before seen them for what they were. "After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn't … But I will not be bound to the Order—or that life—any longer." He looked her in the eye. "Whatever the suffering, I accept it. That is my choice. But I assure you, I will not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to … watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be removed from duty."

Of course he had. Because he was a deeply honorable man, and would sacrifice his own well-being for that of the Inquisition. "Are you in pain?"

"I can endure it. I have done so thus far." Cullen held her gaze steadily, but there was uncertainty there, too. He didn't know how she was going to take this; he was waiting for her response. It was quite possible that he was afraid of what her reaction would be.

"Thank you for telling me, Cullen. I respect your decision." He had done the right thing, unquestionably, as he had done in every other decision that had been entrusted to him.

The relief in him was palpable; he let his breath out as though he had been holding it, and closed his eyes briefly. "Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. … I will defer to Cassandra's judgment."

"Of course." There were so many questions Antonia wanted to ask—how long he felt he needed to be under scrutiny, what the effects were of the lyrium withdrawal, how he had managed so well for so long—but she didn't want to pry. Contemplating the Inquisition without him in command of the armies ... it was a bleak future. She needed him to know how important he was to their success. "Cullen?"

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her comment.

"As you know, your value to—to the Inquisition is unquestionable. You could not easily be replaced … if at all. I say this not to add further pressure. I absolutely know what a personal sacrifice it would be for you if you had to step down from your position. But if at any point there is something you need, you have the Inquisition's full support, and … mine personally, no questions asked."

Cullen cleared his throat. "Thank you. It means a great deal."

"You're worth it—and much, much more." Her voice nearly broke on the last two words, and she hurried from the room to keep from saying anything else.

The first thing Antonia did was search for Cassandra. She found the Seeker in a very odd position—huddled on a stump in a remote corner of Skyhold, reading a book. Antonia drew closer as softly as she could, curious as to what kind of a book it could be that had Cassandra so engrossed. She leaned over Cassandra's shoulder, but couldn't see the title.

"Good book?" she asked.

Cassandra jumped up, hiding the book behind her back. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? Then what's that behind your back?"

"Oh. Just … reports? Yes. Reports."

Antonia grinned. "You're an excellent liar."

Cassandra looked down, abashed. "It's of no interest to you, I'm certain."

Raising her eyebrows, Antonia waited.

"Fine. It's a book."

"Right. But which book?"

Cassandra stared at her boots. "It's … one of Varric's tales. _Swords &amp; Shields_. The latest chapter."

You could have knocked Antonia over with a feather. Of all the things she might have expected to find Cassandra doing, reading one of Varric's books … wouldn't have made the list. Or the vicinity of the list. "The latest chapter? You mean, you've read them all?"

"Well … I've fallen a bit behind since this all began. We've been so busy." She crossed her arms, looking defiant. "It's literature. Smutty … literature. And whatever you do, don't tell Varric."

"Me?" Antonia widened her eyes with her best innocent look. "No! I would never."

"I know, they're terrible, but they're … _magnificent_. And this one ends in a cliffhanger! I know Varric is working on the next one; he must be." She looked at Antonia with excitement. "You! You could ask him to finish it—no, command him to … No." Tucking the book under her arm, she turned away in embarrassment. "Pretend you don't know this about me."

"I'll try, but I don't know if I can manage it. Say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about the 48 copies of _Hard in Hightown_ the librarian says have gone missing?"

"What would I do with 48 copies?"

"I don't think I want to know."

Cassandra glared at her, and Antonia laughed.

"Did you want something, Inquisitor?"

The question recalled Antonia to the reason she was here, and she no longer felt like laughing. "I've just been to speak to Cullen."

"Ah."

"How long have you known?"

"Since the beginning. When he agreed to join the Inquisition, he told me he intended to stop taking the lyrium, and I promised to support him, and to keep a close eye on him in case he started showing signs that the withdrawal was too severe for him to continue in his position."

"I've seen nothing that would even hint at what he's been going through. Has he—allowed you to help him?" Antonia asked.

"Not really. He says he has it under control, and I agree, there have been no indications that he cannot handle it. Why do you ask?"

"I just—hate to think of him going through this alone." To her dismay, Antonia's voice broke again.

"Oh, so it's that way, is it?" There was kindness in Cassandra's tone. "I wondered."

"Is it that obvious?"

"No. Well … perhaps." Cassandra looked at her intently. "Have you said anything to Cullen about how you feel?"

Antonia shook her head. "It's never seemed to be the right time."

"Good. I think … the two of you would be good for one another, but … not until he has passed through this trial."

"No, I agree with you. Thank you, Cassandra."

"Of course. It's the least I can do for the Inquisition, and Cullen has richly deserved whatever support we can give him."

"And … you'll let me know, if—if there's anything I need to know?"

"Why do you think he told you now? He was ashamed to have you know, afraid you would—remove him from his position, for his own good if not for that of the Inquisition. I told him if he didn't tell you, I would."

"Thank you for trusting me to do the right thing."

"You, too, have richly deserved it, Inquisitor."


	10. Bring It On, Commander

_Many thanks to all of you reading along! Special thanks this chapter to JayRain and to Hahren Jezek for their help with the sparring details - they made it much better._

* * *

_18 Kingsway, 9:41_

"One more time," Cullen called. Antonia glared at him, but she readied her sword again as two of his men closed in on her, one on each side. If she turned toward either one, she exposed herself to the attack of the other. It was a weakness of the two-handed weapon, which is why he focused on it so much in her training.

She looked from side to side, tossing her head to flick her hair out of her eyes. It needed cutting again, he thought, if she had to do that. Then, so quickly they didn't have time to react, she whirled around, the practice blade outstretched as she turned, scoring both men across the chest. Immediately she jumped back and reset herself.

"All right, you're both dead. But Inquisitor, that move only works if you can maintain your footing and your speed. If you had slipped, you'd have opened yourself up with no defenses."

"You think?" She raked a glove through her brown hair to push it back.

"Let's try that, then. Same setup as last time, but slip halfway, see how you can recover."

"You want me to slip on purpose?"

Cullen shrugged. "Would you rather slip by accident and not have prepared?"

"Do you enjoy being right all the time?" she grumbled.

He laughed. "I suppose I find it more pleasant than the alternative."

"Fine. Let's do this." She and the men reset. This time, halfway through the whirl a patch of ice appeared under her boots, and she slipped and fell, landing hard on her bottom. She kept hold of the sword, and as the two soldiers closed in, she lifted it above her head and with a quick jerking side-to-side movement managed to hit one with the blade end and the other with the pommel. As they fell backward, she scrambled to her feet, glaring at the mage who had appeared next to Cullen. "That was a dirty trick, Dorian."

He shrugged, looking innocent. "Didn't the Commander want to see what you actually do in combat? Although in truth, what you actually do is more point sharp things at whatever I've already set on fire." Dorian gave an exaggerated sigh. "I give so much, and am appreciated so little."

"I'm lucky if you bother to set things on fire; you and Varric seem to spend half your time chatting while the Iron Bull and I take all the hits." Antonia put her hand on her hip and glared at the mage, but she couldn't hold the expression, and they both laughed.

"An excellent point," Dorian conceded. He looked at Cullen. "Satisfied, Commander?"

Cullen crossed his arms, studying the field. The ice had melted, leaving a muddy patch. "I think if they hadn't both closed in together, perhaps ..."

The soldiers groaned, and Antonia rolled her eyes.

"You know, Commander," Dorian said, "since you have so many good ideas, I think maybe you should show them how it's done."

The men cheered. Antonia's eyebrows flew up, and she cast an odd look at the mage, who returned it rather smugly, Cullen thought. They appeared to have an entire language that didn't require words, and Cullen felt an irrational stab of jealousy.

He had to admit he was exhilarated by the challenge. She was a fine fighter, and it had been some time since they'd sparred together. He did try to avoid getting in the ring too often, but the occasional bout kept him in practice and reminded the men that he knew what he was talking about. "What do you say, Inquisitor?"

She picked up the sword. "Bring it on, Commander."

The soldiers escaped the ring gratefully as Cullen prepared himself. At last he was set, facing her, the patch of mud between them. "Are you ready?"

"Are you? I knock down men twice your size for breakfast."

"Really? Let's just see about that, shall we?" Cullen pulled his thoughts away from the sparkle in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, and the undeniable fact that instead of fighting her, he very much wanted to kiss her, and prepared himself just in time to spin out of the way of her onrush. He clipped her with his shield as he went, and she winced. "I'm sorry, is it breakfast time already?" he said, grinning.

"It just might be." She thrust with the practice sword, but as he was moving out of the way, she turned her wrist. "If this was my greataxe, that would be the edge of the blade in your elbow, Commander. Where the armor is weakest. And from there, a quick move buries the other edge in your side."

He narrowed his eyes, judging the distance. "Possibly. Or perhaps it barely misses the elbow and I bash you with my shield."

"Splitting hairs, aren't you, Commander?"

"Just trying to keep you honest."

"All right, then, let's try again."

The teasing was gone from her eyes now; he had seen that look before in her sparring, and he knew it meant she had decided to win. It was no longer a training session, and Cullen would have to be on his toes.

He sidestepped her first attack, and she danced back from his. The same went for the second and the third on both sides. Cullen's longer legs and less unwieldy blade gave him a small advantage, but her agility and greater endurance countered those neatly.

As the bout went on, he was aware of people surrounding the ring; a match between the Inquisitor and the Commander was something to see, and they were giving a good show. And then it happened, as he had predicted earlier—her hair got in her eyes, and she slipped in the patch of mud.

A groan went up from the spectators, and Cullen could see money changing hands all around the ring.

Antonia was frowning; he knew her well enough to know that she was disappointed in herself for the loss. Confident and skilled, she retained the upper hand in most training sessions, and she didn't like to be overmatched.

But the frown passed, and she looked up at him ruefully. "Taken down by my own hair," she said. "I'm having it cut this afternoon."

He reached down a hand to help her up. "I would. I'd hate to see that happen in a real battle."

"Yes. Me, too."

Cullen saluted her with an arm over his chest. "Well fought, Inquisitor. We might just get you through this yet."

"Thank you, Commander." She looked up at him, her bright eyes catching and holding his in one of those moments that made the rest of the world stop moving. Those seemed to be happening more and more often, making him hope in spite of himself. In spite of his sure knowledge that such a thing was just not possible, when her eyes went all soft and wide and just a little bit hazy, as they were now, and her lips parted as though she were just waiting for his kiss, it was hard not to think that just maybe ...

He caught the thought before he could embarrass himself.

"Right. Well, I should get back to work." With a last nod of the head, he hurried from the field.


	11. Further Specialization

_Good news, readers - for me, at least, and I hope for you: I've finished the story (at least, it's written through the end of the game events)! I've never had such a long story completed so far ahead before. And since it is a long one, I'm going to start posting two chapters a week, so look for it on Tuesdays and Fridays going forward. Thanks so much for reading! I hope those of you on the East Coast of the US are inside and warm right now._

* * *

_1 Harvestmere, 9:41_

"Next item," Leliana said. "I have brought in three trainers in very specialized forms of combat. I believe, Inquisitor, that while you are skilled in the use of your greataxe, it would increase both your power and your mystique if you were trained in something more … exotic."

Antonia raised her eyebrows. "Exotic? What is that supposed to mean?"

"It would be a diplomatic boon, as well. Each specialist has a certain network that we could use if you chose them as your trainer, and I believe it would increase the Inquisitor's cachet among the nobility." Josephine nodded. "Yes, definitely so."

"Cullen?" Antonia looked at her military adviser, who did not appear at all pleased with the suggestion.

"I believe further specialization would be a waste of your time, Inquisitor. You are more than proficient with your current fighting style, and I would not want you distracted from the tasks at hand. Of which there are many, as I'm sure I need not remind anyone in this room."

Antonia looked between the three of them. "Leliana, you say they're already here?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Then I will speak with the three trainers and see what they have to say. Is there anything else?"

"No, I believe that was all for today."

The meeting broke up. Antonia looked to Cullen, wanting to walk out with him, but he hurried down the hall. She wished he'd waited; as her military advisor, and the person who had overseen most of her training since she joined the Inquisition, she thought he should have been the one to suggest any changes to her regimen, and was confused as to why Leliana would have chosen to move forward if Cullen so clearly disagreed with the idea. It would have been nice to have been able to talk with him about it before she met with the trainers.

Hours later, after talking with Leliana's specialists, Antonia found Cullen in the training circle. He was breathing hard and sweating; it looked like he'd been at it for some time.

"Can you take a break? I'd like to talk to you."

He finished the series of moves he was in the middle of and came over to where she was standing, mopping off his face with a towel hanging on the rail.

"Good evening, Inquisitor. Did you find your 'exotic' trainers to your liking?" Even breathless, there was a bite in his tone that was rare for him.

"They were … interesting, I'll give them that."

"I was not aware you thought your current training regimen was lacking."

"I don't." Antonia looked up at him. His handsome face was very closed and just a little bit fierce right now—she could see why his men sometimes called him the Great Bear behind his back. "I have no complaints, or I would have told you so. I hope you've learned that about me by now. But what _I_'ve learned is that when Leliana and Josephine both want me to do something, it's in my best interests—and in those of the Inquisition—to at least investigate the possibility."

"I suppose that's fair," Cullen said, albeit grudgingly.

"Why did this come from Leliana and not from you?"

"Because, as Leliana and Josephine pointed out, this is as much about your image as it is about your prowess in combat. It is their job to make you look good to the rest of Thedas. It is mine to ensure that you come out of your combats in one piece, and I believe in training and preparation over the distraction of fancy tricks. We discussed it, the three of us, and I was overruled." He frowned at her. "Aren't you going to tell me what they had to say?"

"I wasn't sure you would want to know." She gave him a pointed look.

He unbent a bit at last. "All right, I suppose I deserved that. So?"

She really didn't want to get into the details with him, and in fact, intended to have a very firm talk with Leliana later over her decision-making. "One of them might be interesting."

Cullen's eyes narrowed as he studied her face. "What aren't you telling me? There's something."

"Well, one of them was a Champion trainer. Something about a battle standard, and what sounded like a lot of posturing. Mostly harmless, though, I think. And another was a Reaver trainer. She wanted me to drink dragon's blood." She shuddered. "No, thank you."

"And the third?" The dangerous edge to his tone said he had guessed.

"A … a Templar trainer."

"NO!" Cullen gripped the fence, his eyes blazing down at her. "No. Antoni—Inquisitor, you absolutely cannot consider such a course. I will not allow it!"

"Do you honestly think I would?" Antonia stepped closer to the fence, standing her ground against his anger, not even noticing his hastily corrected use of her name—for the first time—in her intensity. "Knowing what you've been through—are still going through?" She kept her voice low to avoid being overheard. "I sent him packing, and I intend to have words with Leliana later for allowing him to come here in the first place. And if you think I have that little respect for—your strength and your courage, then perhaps we don't—don't know each other as well as I thought we did." She couldn't quite keep her voice from quivering. It hurt to think that he believed she could even consider such a thing; it would have felt like a betrayal to have done so, and he ought to have known that. Antonia turned to go before she said anything more that she might regret.

"Wait, please."

There was a raw urgency in Cullen's tone that stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to look at him.

"You're right," he said. "I was too hasty—I just couldn't bear to see you go down that path. I have seen what it can do too many times. I should have known you were too intelligent to risk your health and your sanity that way. And … don't blame Leliana," Cullen added. "She—doesn't know."

"Surely she must! She was part of the Chantry, she must know where the Templars get their power."

"But she doesn't know that I've stopped taking the lyrium. I am afraid … I don't know if she would be supportive of the decision. There's no question that it's a risk, and possibly one the Inquisition can't afford."

"I see."

"So … I'll see you back here in the morning?" There was a hint of a plea in his voice now, and she understood that he was really asking if they were all right with each other.

"Of course—bright and early. Last one here does extra push-ups."

"You're on."


	12. The Most Intriguing Rumor

_Happy Friday! Thanks so much to all of you for reading and favoriting and setting to alerts and reviewing. This story was already a joy to write, and you all make it a joy to post._

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_12 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Cullen was having a hard time concentrating on his work. It was a lovely day, and he could feel the breeze blowing through the holes in the roof, far above his head. It was the kind of day that made him think of his childhood, really, and of running in the fields with his brother and sisters. It should have been one of the last good days of fall before winter set in, but there was no indication in Skyhold of winter's onset—the weather seemed to hover constantly in temperatures reminiscent of early spring, moderate but with a faint chill.

His half-finished note to his sister Mia was buried in a pile of papers somewhere on his desk. He should unearth it and just send it, unfinished as it was; it wasn't as though he was going to find time to write a longer letter anytime soon. He was riffling through the papers looking for it when his door opened, and Dorian came in.

"Commander?"

"What can I do for you, Dorian?"

"I heard the most intriguing rumor, and I came to see if it was true."

"I believe you're in the wrong place. If you're looking for gossip, you should go to the main hall and find Varric."

"You misunderstand me. I was speaking of the rumor that you are in possession of a decent chess game, something I've found dreadfully hard to come by."

Cullen put the papers down. "Chess? It's been some time since I've played—I'm not certain 'decent' would describe it any longer."

"I'm sure you're just being modest. What about it, Commander? Will you come and take pity on a very bored and frustrated man?"

"All right." The chess boards were in the gardens, which were flourishing. It sounded like just what Cullen had been looking for as a diversion, although it made him feel even more guilty about the letter to Mia. He remembered her insufferable looks when she used to win all the time, and the thought made him smile.

"You seem light-hearted today," Dorian remarked.

"It's a very nice day, isn't it? And the Inq—" He caught himself. There was a danger in revealing to Dorian, of all people, how having Antonia in residence at the keep altered his mood. The mage was her best friend, and if he suspected how Cullen felt, which he was quite perceptive enough to pick up on, he would certainly tell her. Which would be embarrassing, to put it mildly.

Not that Cullen hadn't given serious thought—more hours of it than he cared to admit, even to himself—to what he might say if she confronted him about it. There were even moments when he allowed himself to hope that she might entertain some feelings for him in return. Sometimes, the look in her eyes ... He closed his own eyes for a moment, entirely missing Dorian's amused glance in his direction.

"Yes, the scenery in Skyhold is quite beautiful," the mage said, grinning to himself.

Cullen cleared his throat, certain there was more to the comment than there seemed; with Dorian there usually was. He went back to their earlier subject. "So you've had trouble finding fellow chess players?"

"Oh, no trouble finding people to play, but there's no challenge. And there's no fun in winning if it's too easy." Dorian smiled. "Well, that's not entirely true—sometimes it's great fun, but not generally with games of skill."

"No, I see what you mean." He wasn't sure he did, entirely, but he'd found it was best to ignore Dorian's innuendoes.

They took their seat, setting up the board. Cullen had selected these sets himself, and they were good quality craftsmanship. He knew Josephine, and especially Leliana, found his enthusiasm for the details of life in Skyhold rather hard to understand, but he'd never had a chance to surround himself with things of any kind, much less the quality of items necessary to uphold the Inquisition's reputation. For that matter, he'd never been able to choose before—you wore the standard Templar-issue armor and the standard Templar-issue civilian clothes in your off hours, used the standard Templar-issue weaponry, slept in the standard Templar-issue beds. And so on. It had never occurred to him to be unhappy about it; the Templars were all he'd known since he was thirteen. But now that there were options, he'd found that making a choice between the griffon chess set and the rampant mabari had been surprisingly enjoyable.

And it didn't just make him happy. The deliberateness of his choices was reflected in how other people enjoyed the things he bought for Skyhold. While Cullen had always felt an urge to protect others, he hadn't realized until he joined the Inquisition how much he wanted to take care of others, as well. When his people were happy, he had done his job.

Dorian set up the board and made the first move. Cullen leaned forward, trying to remember the combinations of moves he had learned so painstakingly over the years and get back into the mindset of anticipating his opponent's upcoming plays. He looked up at Dorian, but the mage wore the same faintly amused expression he always did. No clues there.

"Stop stalling, Commander. Or are you experiencing performance anxiety?"

"May I remind you that you asked me," Cullen said. He picked up a piece and made his move.

Dorian nodded. "Creditable."

"I'm so glad you approve."

They played for a while in silence, both concentrating on the board. As his feel for the game came back, Cullen relaxed a bit, enjoying the challenge. Dorian was an extremely skilled opponent, but Cullen was very good as well, and Dorian clearly hadn't expected him to be quite as good as he was. Eventually, Cullen was certain he was going to take the game—but equally certain that the next time he played with the mage, the game would be much more difficult because Dorian would take him more seriously from the start. He looked forward to it already.

They were moving into the endgame when out of the corner of his eye he saw Antonia coming toward them. Automatically, he began to rise, the way his mother had taught him to do when a lady entered the room. He wondered if she'd be pleased to know her training had stuck with him this long.

He was very glad that he had almost won the game by the time Antonia arrived, because otherwise her presence might have been a distraction. Then again, the last thing he wanted to do was look foolish in front of her at a game of strategy—he commanded her forces, after all. He was supposed to be good at strategy.

And then he won, and Dorian left, and she stayed, and Cullen was very, very glad he'd left his office today.

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_A/N: Never fear, the other half of this scene comes up on Tuesday! Have a lovely weekend, all!  
_


	13. This Particular Move

_Happy Tuesday, and happy February! Many thanks to all of you for reading!_

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_12 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Antonia stood up from behind her desk. She'd spent hours going over the papers on it, putting things in order, writing up reports from the last expedition, responding to correspondence, and it was only late morning, with another pile just waiting for her attention.

She stretched, feeling the cramped muscles in her back start to loosen. How did Josephine manage to do this all day, every day? It was no wonder the Antivan ambassador so looked forward to the afternoon tea and chat—well, really, more like a gossip session about members of various noble houses they knew in common—that she and Antonia shared whenever they could make the time.

Coming down from her quarters, Antonia walked out into the gardens. It was late fall and yet the plants were still in full bloom. The gardener had heartily concurred with Antonia's plan to focus on herbs for the kitchen and plants to be used in healing and in making potions, and the garden smelled divine. The scents of rosemary and basil, elfroot and the surprisingly pleasant seaside odor of spindleweed wafted through the air as she passed among them, and Antonia found herself smiling for the first time that day.

In the little pavilion across the garden, she spied Dorian. The mage must have found someone foolish enough to play chess with him, she thought, changing course to go see how the game was going. Not that she needed to wonder: Dorian would be winning. Dorian always won—except when he played with her. Antonia had spent a lot of time alone at a chess board, studying, in her childhood. Advantages to being bookish and alone, she thought, although she wasn't sure if she would have said the same at the time. It had been quite a solitary way to grow up.

To her surprise, as she drew closer, she recognized Cullen as Dorian's partner. Her steps—and her pulse—sped up. It was quite rare to find Cullen out of his office in the middle of the day like this, and she'd had no idea he played. She wondered how badly Dorian was beating him.

"Gloat all you want," Cullen was saying. "I have this one."

"Are you … _sassing_ me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you."

Cullen sighed. "Why do I even—" Then he spied her coming toward them. With his innate courtesy, he started to rise from his seat. Dorian, naturally, did not—he didn't even spare Antonia a glance. For which she was grateful. No doubt he would have smirked, and she would have blushed, and really, that was the last thing she needed.

"Leaving, are you?" he said instead to Cullen. "Does this mean I win?"

At Antonia's wave of the hand, indicating they shouldn't stop playing on her account, Cullen retook his seat. "All right. Your move." He leaned forward, focusing on the board.

"You should prepare for my inevitable victory," Dorian said. "You'll feel much better." He moved a piece, and Cullen smiled broadly.

"Really? Because I just won." He placed the winning piece, then leaned back and grinned at Dorian. "And I feel fine."

To his credit, Dorian took the rare loss like a gentleman, giving Cullen a respectful nod of the head before getting out of his chair. "Don't get smug," he said over his shoulder. "There'll be no living with you. Antonia, my dear, I will see you later." He winked at her as he went past.

Cullen reached out to begin picking up the pieces. "I should return to my duties. Unless …" He looked up at her as though it had just occurred to him that she might play. "Unless you would care for a game?"

"Prepare the board, Commander." She took a seat. Perhaps sitting over a chess board wasn't the best way to work out the kinks in her muscles after a morning of sitting over a desk, but this was an invitation she couldn't pass up.

"I didn't know you played."

"Oh, when I was a child," she said, deliberately breezy. "I didn't know you played, either—especially not well enough to beat our resident expert." She didn't play often in public, as opposed to Dorian, who was willing to challenge—and win against—anyone.

"I used to play with my sister." Cullen's hands moved quickly, deftly setting the pieces back in order. "She would get this stuck-up look on her face whenever she won, which was _all_ the time." He smiled at the memory. "There." The board in place, he sat back. "Your move, Inquisitor."

"Have I mentioned that I wish you would call me by my name? I think we've known each other long enough to be able to let go of the formality occasionally."

"Only three times in the last two days." He smiled, countering her opener with a classic response.

"And yet you persist in not using it."

"Does anyone?"

"Dorian. Josephine, sometimes. Vivienne." Cullen made an unexpected move with one of his pieces and Antonia frowned. "How interesting."

"Have you seen that gambit before? I found it in a book in Kirkwall's library."

She had, but rarely. Antonia looked at the board, calculating moves. "So, your sister—did you ever beat her?"

"My brother and I both worked hard at it. She was so insufferable about winning all the time. The look on her face when I finally won— Ah." He studied Antonia's return move. "Not what I expected."

"I aim to surprise."

"You often do," he said, half under his breath. He moved another piece, sitting back. Thoughtfully, he said, "Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them all in years. I wonder if she still plays."

"How many siblings do you have?"

"Two sisters and a brother."

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight," he said. "I don't write to them as often as I should. What of your family? I know you haven't seen them since you joined the Inquisition, but were you close before?"

"Not particularly. My siblings are all much older than I; they were already married and had children by the time I was old enough."

As they played, both being increasingly careful as they recognized the ability of the other, she told him about Wintersend parties at the estate, when her brother and sisters would come and she would be in charge of her nieces and nephews, and of the loneliness when they all went away again. Cullen, in his turn, told her about fishing and hunting with his brother and of putting dead fish in his sister's bed, and about the way his sister had held his hand when he was in bed sick with a fever.

Antonia told him about her first hunting expedition and how her normally fairly distant father had held her when she cried after killing her first deer. In return, Cullen related the story of bringing home his first deer and his mother insisting that he learn how to cook the venison himself.

"You can cook?" she asked in surprise. It was not a skill she'd have imagined him having.

"Well, I could once. It's been a while since I had the chance. I'm probably very rusty at it by now." He frowned at the board. "All right, why did you do that?"

Antonia crossed her arms, smiling in satisfaction as he bent over the board, studying the placement of the pieces.

"Oh, that's why. Well, let's try this, then," Cullen said, moving another piece.

"Intriguing." As she, in her turn, studied the board, Cullen sat back, smiling. Keeping her eyes on the board to mask her interest in the question, she asked, "Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?"

"No. I fear I made few friends there, and leaving the Order meant I cut ties with many of those who remained in it."

"But there was ... no one special who caught your interest?" Antonia placed her piece, still watching the board. She hoped her face wasn't flaming red. Surely by now she would have known if there was a woman waiting for him; but stranger things had happened.

"Not in Kirkwall, no." He appeared to be taking a great deal of interest in her rather pedestrian chess move. "And you? Have you left friends behind in Ostwick?"

"Really, no. My mother passed on some time ago, and my father is busy with his duties. Everyone else is fairly scattered. Most of the few friends I had made good marriages and are now entirely too busy with domestic concerns to keep up much of a correspondence."

"Were you ever—tempted toward those domestic concerns?" Antonia could have sworn he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

"Oh, no. I was shopped around a little, but I wasn't a particularly good catch—too studious to be ornamental for parties, not rich enough or noble enough to change the fortunes of any particular house." She spoke lightly to conceal how difficult had been the process of learning those lessons.

"You make it sound as though you had a fortunate escape."

"It's not so bad, if you find someone kind. But I'd rather be here. We do good work." She smiled at him.

"We do." He returned the smile. "And we're back to the usual topics. You know, I think this may be the longest we've ever gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"Maybe …" She hesitated. Did she want to make this particular move? On the chess board, she was confident. In her life, less so, especially since as the leader of the Inquisition, it wasn't just her life at stake if she made a misstep. But, on the other hand, if she never did anything for herself, would she really be able to maintain her level of focus? She remembered Varric saying that, long ago in Haven.

But in truth, there wasn't a lot of choice in the matter. She'd been holding on to these feelings for such a long time, she couldn't help but say something. "Maybe we could spend more time together—not talking about the Inquisition."

Cullen paused in the act of putting his piece down, looking up at her in pleased surprise. "I would like that."

Her next piece was placed rather recklessly, she had to admit. "Me, too."

He was silent, and Antonia looked up from the board. Cullen's eyes were on her face, studying her, and there was a wonder in his expression that said her comments had been a revelation to him. "You said that," he reminded her. His voice was a caress, and Antonia shivered under its touch. She couldn't have looked away if she'd wanted to, and she certainly didn't want to.

Cullen was the first to turn back to the chess board. "We should … finish our game. Right? I believe it's my move."

"Yes. Yes, it is."

It was hard to focus on the chess game after that moment, but Antonia did her best. Early on, she had given some thought to letting Cullen win—but she had never pretended to be less than she was with him, and she didn't think it would say good things about her if she started now. And she was proud of her ability at the game—losing too easily now would be all too noticeable in a later match.

After a few more moves, it was clear to both of them that she was going to win. To his credit, while Cullen seemed surprised to be losing, he wasn't at all upset about it. "You know some tactics I haven't seen before. It looks like you took this one."

Antonia smiled. "You gave me far more of a challenge than I'd anticipated."

"Thank you. Perhaps we'll have to do this again sometime."

She very much wanted to do it again—and more. Antonia couldn't remember when she'd spent a more enjoyable hour. "We're leaving for ..." With his eyes on her, she couldn't for the life of her remember where she was going. "Somewhere … tomorrow, but we'll be back by Thursday. Maybe we can play again then?"

"Good. That gives me time to study. Don't expect me to go so easy on you next time, Inquisitor."

"Best of luck to you, Commander. I haven't lost a chess game since I was twelve."

"That's big talk."

"Just telling the truth." She grinned at him.

Leaving the board set up for the next players, they walked across the garden together, slowly, neither in a hurry to go back to work. "Have you remembered where you're going tomorrow?"

"The Exalted Plains. See? I knew it would come to me."

"I'm sorry you have to spend so much time out there, putting yourself forward. Especially with your style of fighting—you're always in the thick of the combat."

"That's true, but it's the way I like it. I wouldn't want to hang back. Besides, I think it's good for the people to see me, to know that I am personally out there fighting on their behalf. It makes the Inquisition seem like part of what the people are doing, rather than just another high and mighty group trying to govern without knowing the people they claim to speak for."

"That's a good point." Cullen turned to look at her. "Would it be … forward of me to say that I pray to Andraste for your safety while you're gone?"

"Not forward at all. I need as many prayers as I can get." _Especially yours_, she thought, but didn't say. It felt like too much.

They were standing very close to one another. A small step and she could be in his arms, enfolded in that ridiculous fur-collared cape he wore, lifting her face to his ...

"Inquisitor!" Antonia looked around to find Josephine beckoning to her.

As one, she and Cullen each took a hasty step backward.

"Until Thursday?" she asked.

"I will be looking forward to it."

Antonia crossed the courtyard to Josephine. "So, Inquisitor, how was your chess game?" the Antivan said archly.

"Not another word, Josephine."

"If you say so."


	14. Not Talking about the Inquisition

_Thanks for reading, all! _

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_22 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Cullen sopped up the last of the stew in his bowl with his bread and washed it down with the last of his tea. He rolled up the report he had been reading over his dinner and prepared to get up to go back to his office. It was the tail end of the dinner hour, but mostly for him that just meant there would be fewer interruptions—this quiet part of the night was often his most productive.

It seemed to surprise most people that the Inquisition served most of its meals in this buffet-style fashion, where people came and sat and ate at their convenience, rather than formalized meals, but Antonia had specifically set it up that way, so that no one had to miss a meal or drop what they were doing to make a scheduled meal. There were set hours when breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner were served, and there were baskets of fruits and rolls available during off hours. Cullen admired the plan; he thought it encouraged more relaxed meals and showed a lot of consideration for the differing roles and work hours of those who lived in Skyhold.

Just as he was going to take his bowl and cup to the sideboard and stack them with the rest of the dishes, Antonia appeared, balancing a bowl of stew, a cup of tea, and a plate of bread precariously. She breathed an audible sigh of relief when she put them all down without spilling anything, then looked at his empty bowl.

"Oh. You're finished." There was unmistakable disappointment in her voice.

Cullen's heart leaped at the idea that she was disappointed because she'd been looking forward to sitting with him; sternly he told himself that was ridiculous, and that she no doubt had something Inquisition-related to talk about.

"I'm sorry, was there anything you wanted to discuss before I go?" he asked courteously.

"No, nothing in specific." She sat down, the words coming out of her in a rush. "I just thought—we did say it would be nice to spend more time together not talking about the Inquisition, and here I am, and here you are, and I thought what good timing. But," she gestured to his report, "you've got things to do. Don't let me keep you."

"Really?" His voice was soft and full of wonder, and Antonia had to remind herself to breathe at the sound of it. "That is, I ... don't have to go right this moment. I could, um, stay, if you like."

Yes, she liked. She liked very much. But she forced herself to stay casual. "Would you? I hate to eat alone, and it's hard enough to find a time when neither of us is busy."

"Let me just get another cup of tea."

She looked down at the stew, which had an odd greyish color. When he came back, mug of tea in hand, she said, "Can I ask you something? What, exactly, is this I'm eating?"

He chuckled. "That is a Fereldan Saturday night stew—everything left over from the week's meals, with some gravy and peas to thicken it."

"Well, I have to say, that's what it looks like."

"It might be an acquired taste," Cullen admitted. "My mother made it every week ... although I confess the cooks here do a better job. Not that I would ever say that to my mother." He smiled.

Antonia nodded with an answering smile, picking up her bread and dipping the corner in the stew. She took the bite, considering it as she chewed. "Not bad. Could use some salt."

Cullen passed her the little salt cellar. "What type of food do they eat in Ostwick?"

"I wouldn't know; on the estate we had an Orlesian cook, so we ate a lot of Orlesian foods. Chicken, vegetables, complicated sauces. I didn't actually spend a lot of time in Ostwick itself, and the nobility pride themselves on their exotically trained chefs, so the dinners I attended had everything from Qunari raw fish dishes to spicy Antivan delicacies." She eyed the stew again. "I suppose it's not surprising that there were never any Fereldan dishes on the menu."

"On behalf of my homeland, may I say ... actually, that really isn't a surprise." He smiled, and Antonia laughed.

"Have you ever been to Ostwick?"

"I'm afraid not. I've never been farther north than Kirkwall."

"Do you have any interest in more travel, once the war is over?" She dug into the stew, which was bland but inoffensive once she forgot the color.

"I don't know. I suppose so, eventually, but mostly I'd like to go to South Reach and see my family, and spend some time in Ferelden again, getting to know the country now that the Blight is over. Apparently I'm a dreadful homebody."

"I don't think there's anything wrong with that—not if you have a place to call home that feels like one."

"So you aren't in a hurry to go back to Ostwick?"

"Oh, no. The estate was nice, but Skyhold is much better. More people, more to do, much more interesting."

"And what have you thought of Ferelden so far, Inquisitor?"

She looked at him with a not-amused eyebrow arched, and Cullen wondered frantically what he had said.

"Cullen. Part of not talking about the Inquisition is you _not_ calling me Inquisitor."

"Oh. All right, then ..." He hesitated for a moment. "Antonia."

It sounded as good as she had always thought it would; she wanted to close her eyes and arch her back into the sound like a cat being petted. "Much better," she said, her voice coming out more huskily than she'd intended.

There was a softness and a warmth in his eyes that hadn't been there a moment ago, and she found it very hard to look away.

As usual, Cullen was the first to break the look, clearing his throat. "So you didn't travel much, either, then? I always think you must have had so many more opportunities than I did to see the world, but apparently not."

"No. Because I was dedicated to the Chantry, my parents didn't want to show me a world I could never really be part of, so they kept me home. They meant it well, and I think were fond enough of me, but they certainly weren't concerned with broadening my horizons." She looked at him with curiosity. "Did your parents always intend you to be a Templar?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not at all. My father wanted my brother and myself to stay and help with the farmhold, but I was never well suited to that." He told her about making a pest of himself hanging around the Chantry, getting the Templars to teach him things, and about how long it took him to convince his parents to let him join the Order.

As she listened, she leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, her beautiful brown eyes fixed on his face with a look of warmth that made it very hard for him to concentrate on what he was saying.

It had been a long time since he had talked about himself this much, if he ever had, but she kept asking him questions and he kept answering, until they both looked around the room and noticed that the lamps were low, the tables were cleared, and everyone else—even Varric—appeared to be gone.

"I suppose I should say good-night, then," Antonia said, getting up.

"Shall I walk you to your door?" Cullen got up, too, wishing he could just keep talking to her, hearing her voice and watching her face and just being close to her.

"That door?" she gestured with her head to the far corner of the room, where the door to her quarters was. "I think I'll be okay getting there on my own." She smiled at him. "Maybe I should walk you to your door."

"I don't think there's any need for that." And more was the pity, too, he thought.

"All right, then. Good-night, Cullen." She made sure to tip her face toward him, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he would kiss her.

Cullen wanted to kiss her; he wasn't certain if he'd ever wanted anything as much. But she remained the Inquisitor. She remained ... more than he had any right to ask for. He settled for, "Good-night—Antonia."

She reached out, her hand closing briefly on his upper arm, and then she was gone, leaving Cullen to wonder what that had meant. She had never touched him before, not deliberately like that, and he very much wanted her to do it again. It was ridiculous, he told himself—he was closing in on forty years old, he had bedded a number of women, and yet this one made him feel as tongue-tied and awkward as he had been at eighteen. She must think him—well, he didn't want to consider what she must think of him.

Antonia paused in her doorway, watching him walk out of the room. Subtlety, she decided, was simply not going to get her anywhere. She'd have to be direct. As soon as she worked up the nerve.


	15. Sister Leliana's Report

_Here we go, everyone! Thanks to all of you for reading - you brighten my day. Special thanks to the guests who left reviews on the last chapter, since I can't thank them personally. _

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_25 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Antonia kept up a running pep talk for herself all the way through the inside of the keep. Silently, of course—she didn't want it getting around that the Herald of Andraste talked to herself. But sometimes, there was no one more knowledgeable about the situation.

"You've waited long enough," one side said.

"He's still trying to get a handle on his issues with the lyrium, and what if you're wrong and he's not interested?" said the other.

"Please," said the first. "Of course he's interested."

The first side was silent on the subject of the lyrium, and neither side particularly wanted to broach that topic with Cullen. Especially when there were so many other topics she wanted to discuss with him, chief of which was how much she wanted—needed, really—to tell him how she felt. How many months had it been of trying not to stare at him at meals and in the War Room, of trying not to think of him when she went to bed at night, of trying not to replay in her head everything he had said to her that day? 'Too many' seemed like a reasonable answer. It was distracting, was what it was, and they could not afford for the Inquisitor to be distracted. Or so she told herself, and both sides seemed to accept that argument.

"Right, then," she muttered, opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine. His office was right upstairs, and this was really happening.

It helped that he smiled when she came in. "This is a surprise. What can I do for you, Inquisitor?"

It did not help that there were two soldiers and three of Leliana's operatives in the room, some looking at books and maps and two having a quiet discussion in a corner.

"I … did have something I wanted to talk to you about, but— Could we speak alone?"

"Alone?" he said, clearly a bit flustered by the suggestion. Standing up, he glanced toward the door. "Of course. Shall we … walk?"

They moved along to a more distant part of the battlements that was usually clear this time of day. Antonia kept trying to nerve herself up to say what she had come to say, but it was difficult to do. She kept telling herself they weren't quite alone yet.

Cullen glanced at her several times, waiting for her to speak, rubbing his neck in the way he had when he was nervous. Finally, he said, "It's a … nice day."

"What?"

"It's …" He evidently decided to give up on the small talk. "There was something you wished to discuss."

There was really no way to do this but straight on. "Cullen, you must know how I feel about you."

Cullen blinked, looking away over the mountains surrounding Skyhold. "Do I?"

"Perhaps I've been more subtle than I thought." Antonia frowned. Despite all the times she had considered making this move, she was still shy about coming right out and being blunt about it. "I— I want to be with you."

He took a deep breath. "I ... can't say I haven't wondered what it would be like."

Well, that was promising. She turned to face him. "What's stopping you?"

"You're the Inquisitor. We're at war! And you …" He shook his head, but he was hovering very near her, his eyes on hers as though she might disappear if he looked away. "I didn't think it was possible."

"And yet I'm still here," Antonia said. She leaned back against the wall, her heart pounding, as Cullen moved closer. Much closer, until she could feel the heat of his body against her.

"So you are." His hands settled on her hips, pressing her back against the battlements. He had never touched her before; his hands were so warm, almost hot. Antonia could feel her body heating, melting into his, her head tilting back in anticipation of his long-awaited kiss. "It seems too much to ask. But I want to—" he said in a low tone that made her quiver. She could feel his breath on her lips, and they parted in anticipation. In just another second—

"Commander!"

The voice startled them both. Cullen groaned, taking his hands away from her hips reluctantly as he turned toward the soldier who was hurrying along down the battlement with a report in his hand. Antonia closed her eyes, sighing. She should have waited, she told herself. Only an idiot tried to take the Commander of the Inquisition away from his duties in the middle of the day. Clearly they would have to try this again later. But, Maker, to have come that close—

"You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report," the soldier said, gasping for breath.

"What?" Cullen snapped.

Antonia smothered a smile. She wouldn't want to be that soldier right now.

"Sister Leliana's report. You wanted it delivered 'without delay'." The man looked at Cullen, then at Antonia, who averted her face, torn between embarrassment and irritation. The soldier's face paled, his blue eyes bugging out of his head. So much for privacy—it would be all over the keep by teatime. "Or … to your office … right." The soldier backed away a few steps and then turned and fled. Cullen stood watching him until he was gone. Antonia couldn't see his face, but she'd have bet quite a few sovereigns that he was glaring.

When the soldier disappeared inside the empty guardhouse, closing the door behind him, Antonia said, "If you need to—"

And then she couldn't speak at all, because Cullen was kissing her, hard, as if it was his last chance. His hands were on either side of her jaw, holding her head still firmly but gently. Antonia could only stand frozen in surprise for a moment, unable to believe this was really happening, at last. And then she caught the edges of his cape to hold herself up and to pull herself against him, and she kissed him back.

Cullen let his hands fall, moving back just enough to look at her. "I'm sorry …" he said, as though the suddenness had surprised him, too. "That was … um … really nice." He breathed the last two words so softly she could barely hear them.

Antonia couldn't believe he was apologizing. She met his eyes, smiling. "That was what I wanted," she said emphatically.

"Oh." An answering smile spread across his face. "Good." Sure of himself—and her—now, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her close, and bent his head for another kiss. Slower, now, taking their time to savor the moment, tongues touching, exploring one another's mouths. Antonia could have been in the Deep Roads for all she knew of the world outside of his arms, or all she cared.

Finally, Cullen broke the kiss. "Someone is going to come looking for one of us eventually," he said with a regretful sigh. "Not that I couldn't stand right here with you pretty much forever."

"I suppose that wouldn't be productive."

"No." He looked down at her, stroking the side of her face with two fingers. "Maker. Are you sure you're real?"

She turned her head and bit his fingertip, gently, smiling at him.

"Ouch. All right, I suppose I'm convinced." Cullen kept his arm around her waist, not wanting to let go of her. "To say that this is not what I expected today would bring me when I got up this morning would be an understatement."

"It almost didn't. I've talked myself out of this several times on the way over to your office."

"Were you … not sure?"

"No, I was sure. I've been sure. But if I said something and it—didn't go well, then it would have been very awkward sitting across from you in the War Room." She chuckled.

"You think it won't be now? I mean, it's always been difficult not to look at you, but after today—" He gave a little moan in the back of his throat. "For that matter, I have a desk full of paperwork waiting for me, and I'm not going to be able to concentrate on that, either." He was smiling, though, his eyes warm and happy.

Antonia said archly, "Perhaps I should apologize."

"Don't you dare."

They stayed where they are for a long moment, looking into one another's eyes, before Cullen said at last, "All right. This time I'm really going."

"If you have to. Can we, um, do this again sometime?"

"Count on it."


	16. Unbelievable

_Hey, it's Friday! Getting to share this story with you always brightens my day. Thanks for reading!_

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_25 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Cullen leaned on the wall of the battlement, looking up into the night sky. It was cold up here, but he was Fereldan—cold didn't bother him much. And tonight, nothing could bother him at all. He could almost feel the warmth of Antonia's body on the wall, the same one she had been leaning against earlier today.

If he closed his eyes, he could still taste her kiss, still feel her small calloused hand on his face, still smell the scent of the soap she used, a mix of rosemary and embrium the gardener made especially for her. Just for a moment, he let himself relive it, feeling the warmth rising within him all over again.

He hadn't expected her to come into his office today—usually the day before she left for an expedition, she was constantly in motion making plans. The most he saw of her on those days was if she needed a map or other guidance on her destination, and in the daily War Room meeting. He had been completely unprepared for her to appear, much less for her to ask to speak to him alone.

Which was what had led him to make the nearly disastrous choice of the battlement as a place to be alone. In retrospect, he should have just kicked everyone out of his office, but it had never occurred to him; with her in front of him, watching him with those bright brown eyes, he'd been lucky he hadn't suggested the main hall.

Not that it had ended badly at all. After the interrupted kiss, what had followed had been ... wonderful. Amazing. Unbelievable. Antonia had fit as perfectly into his arms as he had imagined she might. And she kissed like—_a desire demon_, whispered an old, old voice in his head. Cullen closed his eyes again, fighting against the automatic constriction of his muscles. He hated that voice, the one that couldn't let Ferelden's Circle go, the one that always made him doubt himself and everyone around him.

Holding his breath and letting it out again, he looked up at the stars, tracing the edges of the constellations, holding on to their sameness. They were his anchor on the long nights when the need for the lyrium kept him awake, pacing these same battlements over and over again, checking in with his men on watch.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned back to her, and to those kisses. It had been a long time since he'd been with anyone—the last time had been with an energetic and lonely Lowtown widow who owned a tailoring shop, several weeks before the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry and the ensuing chaos. In the weeks after the Chantry exploded, there had been no time and certainly no inclination, and when he joined the Inquisition as its commander, he had made the decision to put all that aside as long as was necessary in favor of the work before him. Not just because of the work, but because Haven was very small. There would have been no opportunity without opening himself up to vulnerabilities that were not in keeping with his position.

Additionally, Cullen was concerned about the effect having given up the lyrium would have. Even with lyrium, it had been difficult for him to allow himself to be touched without thinking of the demons in the tower; he generally preferred to give pleasure rather than receive it because of that, and without lyrium he imagined the effort of keeping his focus on the present in an intimate situation would be much more difficult than he was used to.

And he certainly had not been looking for ... emotion. Once upon a time, back in the Circle, before—everything happened, he had been young, idealistic, wishing for that connection. He had even imagined himself in love once, but that had ended badly. Afterward … he hadn't particularly wanted to open himself up to that kind of vulnerability again, and hadn't been sure he could trust it if he did. He still wasn't sure how much he could trust, as much as he wanted to.

Then, just as he had been settling in to a routine in Haven, one defined by work ... Antonia fell out of the sky. At first, his concern had been for her comfort—she had been so frightened and unsure of herself to begin with, he had wanted to make her feel better. But he had enjoyed their conversations more than he had initially thought he might, and he had come to admire her courage in the face of a situation in which a lesser woman would have given up.

They had become comfortable with each other surprisingly quickly, her quick wit and her thoughtfulness bringing him out of the careful routine of work, work, and more work he had been trying to build for himself. And then, one day, she had made a joke, and Cullen had looked down into her sparkling brown eyes, and ... everything changed. He hadn't known it at the time, but he had been lost.

At the time he remembered having thought with some surprise how beautiful she was, and wondering how it was that he had never noticed before. But of course, such thoughts were ridiculous, he had told himself, and he had exerted himself to quash them. It was an effort that had proved futile from the beginning, as every day brought him some new reason to respect, admire, and care for her.

Sometime after the fall of Haven, he had been forced to admit that he had gone beyond simply caring for her—that he was hopelessly in love with her. Hopeless insofar that he couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to; hopeless further insofar as his expectations had been concerned. She was young, she was beautiful, she was in a position of great power, she was extraordinary in so many ways. And he was ... not in her league.

Cullen wasn't insensible to the way women looked at him; he had taken advantage of those looks more than once in his past. But he had never in his life cared for a woman the way he cared for her, never measured all of himself, not just the physical, against the yardstick of what one particular woman deserved. He had done that now, and found himself far from deserving.

Feeling that way, Cullen had tried to keep from fantasizing about her ... but he might as well have tried to dam up the Waking Sea. Because he ached to hold her, to kiss her, to touch her intimately and watch her face as pleasure marked it, and if he ever expected to get anything done, that ache required release. But even as he was unable to stop himself from thinking of her like that, he was relieved in some ways that it wasn't possible. Between the lack of lyrium and the consequent increase in the ghosts that haunted him and the way she tempted him to look at her and to think of her ... he was afraid of what could happen if he ever was in a position of intimacy with her, afraid of the shadowy things that lurked in his own mind.

Until today, those fears had been vague and formless, but suddenly, unbelievably, now they had become possibilities. Part of him thought it had been a mistake to have kissed her in the first place, but he defied any man living to have her there in front of him, her lips parted and her eyes fixed on him, and not have kissed her. Certainly Cullen couldn't have walked away from her, even if he had wanted to.

And now his thoughts were full circle again, back to reliving those moments of her in his arms, her small strong hand closing on the back of his neck, her fingers playing in his hair while her tongue met his so boldly, so passionately.

He groaned just thinking of it. Across the courtyard, he could just see the lights coming from her quarters above him, and he had to admit, if he hadn't known tonight was her diamondback game with her companions, he might have been sorely tempted to go over there and ask for more. More kisses, at least. The rest would have to wait until he was sure of her, sure of himself and his ability to control the fears that sometimes took him.

He could dimly hear a shout of laughter from the card game, and he wondered which companion had made the joke.

Part of him envied them—they saw a side of Antonia, and of the Inquisition in general, that he never had the chance to. It was the same feeling he'd had in Kirkwall when Hawke would come by, wishing he could go away and adventure with them, just once, to see what it was like.

It was astonishing, when you thought about it—his life had been touched by three of the greatest heroes of his generation, but he had only been at the periphery of their adventures. Even here at Skyhold, he was in no doubt about his overall importance to the Inquisition, but he wasn't out there with his sword, fighting the bandits and the demons and the creatures that Antonia and her companions faced so often.

He couldn't help comparing them with each other. Thomas Amell, the Hero of Ferelden, had been one of the Circle's quietest and most studious mages. Had you told Cullen back when he first met the other boy—they were of an age, even if one of them wore mage robes and the other Templar armor—that Thomas would save the world by killing a tainted dragon, he would have laughed.

Evelyn Hawke was a beautiful woman, tall and statuesque and powerful, and he had entertained thoughts of her beauty on a number of occasions. He had even taken her out to dinner once, although it had been rather a distaster; she had been very bored, despite her attempts to conceal it.

And now, Antonia Trevelyan. Who was warm and funny and brave and beautiful and strong, and who just hours ago had kissed him on this very battlement as though they were the only two people in the world. Cullen shuddered at the memory, closing his eyes and feeling again that deep, sweet ache in the pit of his stomach. It was going to be a very long wait for her to get home.


	17. Diamondback

_Thanks to all of you for reading! _

* * *

_25 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Antonia surveyed her quarters, making sure everything was in readiness. Trays of sandwiches, cookies, fruits, and vegetables. Her private cellar fully stocked with wine and ale. Table and chairs set up, diamondback cards prepared.

Since moving to Skyhold, company drinking night had become company diamondback night—the virtue of diamondback being that usually Dorian's skill at all games and Varric's expert cheating tended to cancel each other out, leaving some space for someone else to win every once in a while. Of course, it was usually the Iron Bull, so there was an argument to be made that things hadn't improved much for the rest of them.

They always held the game in Antonia's quarters because they were larger and more spacious than anyone else's, and far more private. Roya, the dwarf who was assigned to take care of Antonia's quarters—and Antonia herself, for that matter—tended to grumble about the mess that was made, but she had helped make the preparations with care.

"All right, my lady, I think everything's ready for those barbarians of yours," Roya said.

"Dorian wouldn't thank you for calling him that."

Roya sniffed. "Tevinter's a mere child compared to the dwarven kingdoms. My people have forgotten more than his ever knew."

It was a debate Dorian and Roya had had more than once, and neither one would concede the other's points. Antonia smiled. "I'll tell him you said so."

"Don't stay up too late, my lady. You have an early morning tomorrow."

"I know." They were off to the Western Approach in the morning. Antonia hadn't considered when she went to Cullen's office this morning how much she would hate having to leave the next day, having just discovered the magic of being in his arms. Thinking about those kisses, she closed her eyes, reliving the moment.

"And you had a long day, so I hear." Roya's dry voice was teasing.

Antonia's eyes flew open. "You heard about that?"

Roya chuckled. "Good night, my lady." Her footsteps down the stairs were replaced shortly by the Iron Bull's heavier footfalls coming up. He was arguing with Cassandra over the best way to sharpen a sword.

"I say, you hit things with it! Sharp things."

"You are a fool. Good evening, Inquisitor."

Vivienne was the next one up, with Dorian and Varric right behind her. Blackwall came occasionally now, but he had passed this evening. The ghosts that haunted him were too loud today, it seemed. Solas preferred to be alone, and Cole wasn't clear on the rules—not of diamondback, or of spending time with large groups of people. Sera always said she didn't like a game with such straightforward tactics. But Cassandra was cut-throat, taking on the game with the same intensity she displayed for all the other aspects of her life.

Everyone filled a plate of food and got something to drink, and then they ranged around the big round table. Varric deftly shuffled the cards.

"Why is he dealing first?" Cassandra protested. "He cheats."

"Hey, Seeker, I have to deal sometime."

"That's debatable."

"My dears, must we begin this squabbling so early in the evening? You will run out of insults." Vivienne sighed, taking a slow, appreciative sip of her wine.

"Don't be ridiculous. I have lists of insults—I memorize them at night before I go to bed." Varric dealt the cards, making comments with each one to get everyone laughing so they didn't pay attention to him dealing from the middle of the deck. To no one's surprise, he won the hand.

Vivienne dealt next, efficiently and smoothly and with absolute correctness, and the game began in earnest. They were all relatively serious players, and the banter only loosely covered the fact that every one of them hoped to win big when they sat down at the table.

That was what made them a good team, Antonia thought. They went into battle with the same determination and intensity—and together, they nearly always did win big. She held her tongue, watched her cards, and bet conservatively, as usual, watching to see who was in good form.

On Dorian's deal, he accidentally dealt her first card face up. It was a king, and Dorian winked at her as she hurriedly flipped it over. Antonia repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Of course Dorian already knew what had happened earlier that day. She was surprised none of the rest of them seemed to have heard anything—maybe the soldier had been so unnerved by the situation he hadn't said anything? Or more likely, all of them knew and were just waiting for their chance.

She won the next round, raking in her winnings. The Iron Bull dealt next, and as always he pretended to have difficulty dealing the cards with his big hands. Antonia knew that was pure fakery—she wasn't sure how he got away with it, but the Iron Bull cheated even more flawlessly than Varric, purely by dint of pretending to be more Qunari than he was. He popped his eyebrow at her as the cards went around. Antonia didn't bet.

"Krem tells me there's a rumor that one of the battlements is haunted," he said.

At the word 'battlements', Antonia jumped, startled. The Iron Bull looked over at her. He was absolutely straight-faced, but there was a twinkle there deep in his eye. So Krem knew, and he'd told the Iron Bull.

"Haunted? Do tell." Dorian smirked at his cards. "What type of dread specter is it?"

"Haunted," Cassandra scoffed. "Grown men should not believe in such fairytales."

"Now, Seeker, a person doesn't have to see a thing to believe it happened." Varric was looking at his cards, but Antonia could see the corner of his mouth quirking.

Great, so he knew, too. Of course he did. Varric knew everything. And then it sunk in—she was leaving in the morning, and would be spending a week with Dorian, Varric, and the Iron Bull. She groaned. They were going to give her no peace at all.

"What is it, Herald?" Varric asked. "Something disagree with you?"

"No doubt it's that ale she drinks," Vivienne said. "Everyone knows the less expensive the libations, the more difficult they are to digest."

The Iron Bull scoffed at that. "Ridiculous. My men drink booze brewed from their dirty socks, and get up and slaughter a whole crew of beefy bandits the next day."

"A crew of beefy bandits?" Dorian asked. "Bull, have you been reading those rhyming picture books again?"

"Can you all just shut up and play the game?" Cassandra snapped.

"See why I didn't want to invite her? She's scary," the Iron Bull complained.

The conversation descended from there into the usual round of friendly insults, and the game ended early due to tomorrow's expedition. Vivienne and Cassandra left together, wishing the rest of them safe travels. Dorian and the Iron Bull were deep in a discussion about a battle in the Qunari/Tevinter war, and they argued their way loudly down the stairs.

Varric stayed behind and helped Antonia straighten up.

"You know, Roya will do this tomorrow. She's looking forward to having me gone for a week so she can do a deep cleaning." Antonia shook her head. "I think she loves to clean more than anything else."

"From what I've heard, growing up in Orzammar's Dust Town leaves you one of two ways—dead, or relentlessly neat. Sometimes both." Varric stacked up the plates on the table. "So I heard Commander Loverboy practically bit that poor kid today."

"I think that's a bit of an overstatement." Antonia blushed.

"Did he really catch you in a compromising position?"

"No." Remembering the bitter disappointment of that moment, the sudden loss of the warmth of Cullen's body against hers, Antonia remarked with some asperity, "He caught us just _before_ the compromising position."

Varric's eyebrows flew up practically to his hairline, and he laughed uproariously. "Seriously, you can't write shit like that. There you are, there's the commander, the unresolved sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife, and then that poor sod comes along waving a report at exactly the perfectly wrong time. He's lucky he lived to tell the tale."

"Are you quite finished?" But Antonia couldn't stop the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. It had been rather funny, and it had worked out in the end, after all. She laughed along with Varric.

"Think what a story you'll have to tell your grandchildren."

"Let's assume that your ridiculous jump forward in time has any basis in fortune-telling, and allow for the possibility of those grandchildren, Varric—am I really likely to tell them a story that has the words 'unresolved sexual tension' in it?"

"Come on, Herald, I'm sure you'll be quite the grandmother. Teaching them sword stances, telling them risque stories ..."

"I'll leave those to you. Hawke and I will work out an arrangement to share you."

"That's sweet. I suppose I should be glad you're not planning to cut me down the middle and each take half."

"She gets the mouthy half," Antonia said dryly.

"Only if you can figure out which half that is." Varric grinned at her. "Was it everything you hoped for, Herald?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then I leave you to your dreams." He bowed.

"Good-night." She watched him go. Hastily, she finished straightening up then got into bed, closing her eyes to more vividly relive every word, every touch. The ensuing dreams were sweet, indeed.


	18. Nicer Thoughts than Usual

_Short but sweet today! Thanks for reading, all!_

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_26 Harvestmere, 9:41_

Morning came very early. The Western Approach was on the opposite side of Orlais, so they wanted to make as much time today as they could. Antonia strapped on her gear in a bit of a fog; she'd never been a morning person, and while the sunrises were pretty, she'd have preferred the extra sleep, instead.

"You look like I feel, my dear girl," Dorian said. He was bundled up in a thick wool coat that looked faintly ridiculous on him, sipping a steaming cup of the Iron Bull's strange hot cocoa drink.

"Is that any good?" Antonia eyed it with skepticism.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Dorian said. "I've heard of this, but I've never had the chance to try it before." He held out the cup, and Antonia took a sip.

"Maker, that is good. Can we convince the Bull to lay in a supply?"

"Supply of what?" The Iron Bull had come up behind them. He caught sight of what Dorian was drinking. "Hey! What sneaky thief did you pay to take that out of my quarters?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"I would, and you're going to tell me." The Qunari waved his greataxe in Dorian's face.

"Please. With a wave of my hand I could turn that thing into a bouquet of flowers."

"You and whose army?"

"These arms," Dorian said, rolling up his sleeves and exposing his admittedly impressively muscled arms. "You forget, Bull, that I am my own army."

The Iron Bull clearly appreciated Dorian's arms, too, his eye running up and down the muscles avidly. "Yes, and one hit in the wrong place and you fold like a cheap card table."

"It's better than running around half-naked all the time. You spend more time bleeding than I do fixing my moustache." Dorian eyed the Iron Bull's naked chest with feigned distaste, but his gaze lingered.

Antonia put a hand to her forehead. "Do you two know what time it is?"

"5:45."

She turned at the sound of the familiar voice to see Cullen just coming off the stairs leading down from his office. "What are you doing here at this hour?" Not that Cullen wasn't an early riser—he usually was—but he often spent these hours in quiet contemplation in the Chantry or in less quiet contemplation on the training ground. He wasn't usually particularly chatty. This morning, though, he was freshly bathed, his hair still damp, and he was smiling. Antonia wasn't sure she trusted anyone who could smile this early.

He moved close to her, bending his head a little to speak softly. "I thought I would see you off."

"Oh." There was a foolish smile on her face now, too, Antonia had no doubt of it. And if she had doubted, she would only have had to look at Dorian and the Iron Bull, who were smirking at her. She ignored them, and looked up at Cullen. "That was nice of you."

"Not at all." He started walking a little way away from the rest of the caravan, and Antonia walked with him. "I just ... wanted to see you. Before you left."

"Is anything wrong?"

"No! Nothing at all; everything is very right." He ran a hand through his hair. "I warn you, I don't think I'm going to be very good at this."

"At what?"

"Saying the right thing. You ... I know what I want to say, but then I look at you and it all goes ... awry."

Antonia chuckled. "I can't decide if that's a compliment or not."

"Oh, it's a compliment."

She glanced around. Dorian and the Iron Bull were arguing over the best way to load the supplies on the packhorse. Varric was nowhere to be seen, which meant almost surely he was somewhere she didn't want him to be, like right behind her, but there was no one else in sight just at the moment. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes and kissed Cullen's cheek. "I look forward to seeing you when I get back."

"I'll be counting the hours. Be safe."

"Always. I have my boys to look out for me."

Cullen looked over his shoulder at them. The Tevinter mage, the Qunari mercenary, and, somewhere, the dwarven merchant with the fancy crossbow. "They're an odd team."

"Never a dull moment."

"There are quite a few of those here, especially when you're gone. But ... I have nicer thoughts than usual to while away the time with," he said softly.

"Me, too." At his surprised look, she said, "I think about you—well, all the time, really."

There was a sudden warmth in his eyes. "I had no idea."

"Now you do."

They were both wearing that foolish smile now, unable to look away from one another.

"Inquisitor, dear!" Dorian's voice, falsely solicitous, broke into the moment. "I believe we're ready for Your Worship, if you think you might like to leave for Orlais after all."

"Or should we unpack, boss?" You'd have to know the Iron Bull well to hear the tease in his tone, but Antonia got it loud and clear.

"Herald. Ready when you are." Varric, as predicted, appeared from somewhere just behind Antonia.

"Your boys, hm?" Cullen asked, looking them over again.

"Sometimes I feel like their mother."

As one, they all said, "You don't look like my mother."

"See what I have to put up with?" Antonia smiled at Cullen, reaching out to touch his hand. He shifted his fingers to give hers a passing caress, and she shivered, putting a very pleased light in his eyes. "Have a good week."

"You, too."

As they rode out through the gates, she glanced back over her shoulder to see him still standing there, watching her.

"You two are entirely too much sugar for this hour of the morning," Varric grumbled.

Antonia grinned. "With any luck, you'll have to get used to it."


	19. Endless Possibilities

_Thank you all for reading and all your support!_

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_28 Harvestmere, 9:41_

The Chantry was silent today, as it often was. For a company built upon a love of the Maker and his Bride, and following someone called the Herald of Andraste, they weren't much for individual prayers. Cullen found that ironic, but he often appreciated the ability to pray alone. Maybe others did, too, he thought, and the faithful staggered their visits to be able to speak to Andraste in some amount of privacy. That comforted him a bit, more than his other suspicion, which was that they were all too busy to truly make time for Andraste in their lives. Even he spent less time in the Chantry than had been his habit at one point.

Today he came to the Chantry not to pray for himself, as he had so often before, although Maker knew he still needed Her peace, Her protection from the memories that haunted him and the fears that were his regular companions. But today, with Antonia and her 'boys' still out on their expedition, he came to pray for her, to ask the protection of Andraste for Her Herald.

"'Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just,'" he murmured, lighting a candle. It was Antonia exactly—it was what she had done at Haven, putting herself between her people and Corypheus, who was the embodiment of corruption and wickedness. And she had not faltered.

He lit another candle. "'His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, endless possibilities.'" Perhaps this one was for him, after all, because hope and fear mingled were what the Maker's Word had become for him. Once, singing the Chant had filled him with its light; he had believed in what he was doing, in what the Templars and the Chantry were doing. Then there had been the Circle, and after that the Chant had filled him with darkness, with anger and terror and a deep, corrosive need for revenge. And then there had been Kirkwall, and now he questioned the Chant and those who sang it in a way he had never done before.

In questioning, he felt that perhaps he began to fulfill the Maker's Word, the endless possibilities the Chant spoke of. When faith went unquestioned, the possibilities remained limited, by necessity. But part of him still missed those days of pure faith, of certainty.

"'In the absence of light, shadows thrive,'" he whispered. It was true—with the light gone from his heart, the shadows had grown. But in recent months, those shadows had receded. The Inquisition was the light; Antonia was the light.

"'The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world.'" Yes. He gave up on the Chant, letting the words pour forth from him. "Andraste, keep her safe. Guide her blade, and give strength and courage to those who protect her. Make the path smooth beneath her feet. Bring her home safely to those who—who care for her." There was more he wanted to say—he wanted to pour out to Andraste all his hopes and his fears, all his dreams and ideas, all the endless possibilities that had suddenly opened up to him that he had never thought could exist. But the fears were the greatest of all, and they stopped his tongue and chilled his heart and wrapped around him in shadow the way the demons had done ...

Cullen got hastily to his feet, rubbing a hand over his face. He had nearly nodded off here in the Chantry, and as always, unexpected sleep had brought with it the demons of memory that descended whenever he was least prepared.

"Your heart is troubled, child." Mother Giselle stood in the back of the Chantry, watching with kindly eyes. "She knows that without your needing to put it into words. The Maker's Bride knows a great deal about troubled hearts."

"Thank you, Mother."

"I have done nothing."

"You maintain the Chantry for those of us who need it. That is a great deal." He cleared his throat, assuming the commander's mantle again. "Is there anything you or the Chantry require?"

She was smiling—she had seen him retreat, and was not going to chase him. "No. Not at this time. But if there is anything you need, the Chantry and I are here."

Cullen nodded, and he hurried from the room and from the ghosts that lay trapped in the Chant.


	20. Stakes

_I love these three guys together, even when they do gang up on their boss. Thanks for reading!_

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_29 Harvestmere, 9:41_

"Wicked Grace, boss?"

"Bull, didn't you take enough of their money at diamondback the other night?" Antonia asked. She was scrubbing out the skillet the Iron Bull had cooked in while Dorian fetched water for the morning—complaining the whole time about there being no magic water spell that would do it for him—and Varric chopped up firewood, grumbling in his turn about dull axes that were a poor substitute in his hands for Bianca.

The Iron Bull and Antonia exchanged a grin. Part of the fun of bringing Varric and Dorian along was watching them have to go without their creature comforts. Not that Antonia loved camping herself, but she accepted it with equanimity, unlike her more pampered companions. The Iron Bull, on his part, thrived on it. The only thing that would have made him happier would have been to bring the Chargers along, but that tended to get complicated.

"He did not 'take' my money," Dorian protested. "I am merely allowing him to hold it for me."

"And it's not lonely, with all Varric's to keep it company."

"Really, are you ever going to tell me how you do it? I thought I had raised cheating to an art form, and then you come along and rob me blind. You're as bad as a publisher," Varric complained, dropping his armload of firewood onto the pile. "There. That's the last of it. You all want more, you can cut it yourselves."

"Bull, do you remember telling them if they wanted more food, they'd have to cook it themselves?"

He snorted. "These two wouldn't eat their own cooking if you paid them—and neither would anyone else."

Antonia looked at the skillet and decided it was good enough. Unfortunately for her, Varric was standing next to her at the time, and he took it out of her hand before she could stow it away. "Speaking of shirkers, your Heraldness, wouldn't you say this could use a little more elbow grease?"

"Sodding nobles," the Iron Bull grumbled. "How did I get stuck with you people?"

"You don't like it, Bull, all you have to do is give us back our money and take your leave." Dorian held out his hand.

"You wish."

"Can we all just shut up and play cards already?" Varric asked. He dug out a well-worn deck and began shuffling it, to loud protests from both of the other men. "What? Where are you going to get a fresh deck in the middle of the sodding wilderness?"

The Iron Bull and Dorian looked at one another and sighed. "Fine."

"Sounds like we're agreed, gentlemen. Stakes?"

"Yes, please." The Iron Bull grinned hugely.

"We just ate!"

"And I'm still hungry. You have a problem with that?"

"Not if you're cooking."

"Boys!" Antonia shouted. They all looked at her guiltily, and she was hard-pressed to hide her smile. In some ways, they _were_ very much like small boys—small boys with deadly weapons, granted, but still. "What are the stakes?"

"If I win, Varric writes a story about the person of my choice," Dorian said.

"Present company excepted, naturally, Herald." Varric smiled at her. "If I win, Sparkler's buying the rounds when we get home."

"How many rounds?"

"How long can we drink?"

"_Fasta vass_. I'll go broke!"

"If I win, the Iron Bull does the cooking on all future expeditions," Antonia said.

"Done! I'm tired of the half-charred rabbit you call food, anyway." The Iron Bull's eye twinkled at Antonia. "And if I win, the boss tells us all about making out with the commander on the battlements. Every juicy detail."

"Maker." Antonia dropped her head in her hands, seeing the sudden gleam in Dorian and Varric's eyes. There was no doubt about it now—the Iron Bull was going to win. "Why don't you just ask me your questions now and get it over with?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" Dorian asked. "Deal the cards, Varric."

"If you say so, Sparkler."

They played a few rounds in relative quiet, broken only by loud groans or cheers, depending on who won or lost a hand.

"So ... you going to see him again, boss?" the Iron Bull asked, frowning at his cards.

"I thought you were waiting until you won."

"Yeah, but we all know I'm going to." He grinned at her.

"Fine. Yes, I imagine I will see him again, since I work with him on a regular basis. It would be difficult not to unless I ran around the keep with a blindfold on."

"And wouldn't that be a shame." Dorian quirked an eyebrow. "He's too fine a man not to see."

"You can say that again." The Iron Bull finally placed his card, looking up to find Dorian frowning at him. "What?"

"You confuse me."

"Any time you want clarification, I'm just a tent away."

Varric and Antonia exchanged a surreptitious glance. There hadn't been much teasing in the last exchange—maybe they were finally going to stop dancing and get somewhere. Of course, she thought, the same could be said for her and Cullen, and had been by all of those present. She couldn't help thinking of him now. They had been very good kisses; she looked forward to more. "What do you say we head home tomorrow?" she said abruptly. All three men turned to look at her in some surprise, and she raised her eyebrows at them. "You have something to say, gentlemen?"

"Must've been good," the Iron Bull said. "Funny, you'd think a Templar wouldn't know what he was doing."

"Not with a woman, anyway," Dorian remarked. "I've heard about Templars and their quarters."

"Please. I wrote most of those stories," Varric said.

"According to Cullen, Templars don't take vows of chastity, or not unless they want to." Antonia regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

"And we know this, do we?" Dorian looked at her avidly over his cards. "Do tell."

"I asked, all right? I asked. Because ... I wanted to know." She dropped her face into her hands. "Maker. I think I hate all of you."

"For what it's worth, when he was Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, Cullen went on a date with Hawke," Varric said.

"He did what?" Antonia looked up at Varric, her eyebrows practically in her hairline.

"Oh, yes. Right after her sister was captured and dragged into the Gallows. Hawke was mostly trying to get her sister out of the Circle ... and she never had eyes for anyone but Fenris anyway, much as she tried."

Antonia didn't know what this Fenris looked like, but privately she thought anyone who could prefer someone else over Cullen was quite obviously insane.

"And you have it as bad as she did," Varric said, chuckling, clearly having read her thoughts.

"Hey! Are we playing here, or what?" the Iron Bull asked.

"I thought we were hearing all the juicy details. Do tell, Antonia dear."

"You've all heard everything, I'm sure."

"I'm sure not." Dorian nodded at her. "Go on."

"Go on, nothing." None of them stopped staring at her, and she couldn't help blushing. "Fine. I said some things, he said some things, we both did some things ... Well, not too many things, but ... Seriously, haven't you all heard enough?" she snapped.

"I take it everyone left happy," the Iron Bull said, popping his eyebrow at her.

"Oh, yes. No question about that."

"Well, all kidding aside, boss, let me say on behalf of all of us that it's about damned time."

"Hear, hear," Dorian echoed.

"And if he doesn't treat you right, the Chargers will feed him to the fish. Big ones, with sharp teeth."

"Thank you, Bull."

He grinned. "Mention me to your friends. Maybe we'll make it a side business."

At some point, they realized they had all stopped keeping track of the game, and it broke up with promises of a rematch. Antonia ducked into her tent, smiling. With such men at her back, she had to believe the Inquisition would triumph.

* * *

_A/N: Just so you know, the Hawke in this story is Evelyn Hawke from At Your Side. It's not necessary to read AYS to follow this story, but I thought I'd mention it in case anyone was curious. _


	21. Sweet Dreams

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

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_1 Firstfall, 9:41_

It had been a long trek back, with rainstorms in Orlais and snowstorms in the mountains as they approached Skyhold, and it was full dark when they rode through the gates. Soldiers swirled around their horses, helping them unload. Antonia usually tried to do her full share of the work, but she was absolutely exhausted tonight. She swung herself down from her horse, with hasty instructions to the stable lad who was holding his head, and, shouldering the small pack of her essentials, hurried through the snowy courtyard toward the keep.

"Inquisitor!" The voice she most wanted to hear stopped her in her tracks, and she turned to see Cullen striding hastily across the courtyard. She mustered a tired smile for him. "You must have had a long trip back. We weren't expecting you for another couple of days."

"We came home early," she said.

"Any particular reason?" He reached for her pack, lifting it off her shoulder as he walked beside her through the main hall. It was late enough that few people were about, for which Antonia was glad. She barely had enough energy for Cullen right now, much less for anyone else.

"Possibly." She smiled up at him as he held the door of her quarters open for her. "And we weren't doing much good, anyway. I'll have to go back at some point."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but ... very glad you're home," he added more softly.

"Me, too." She yawned. "It was touch and go tonight—we thought about waiting at the last checkpoint and coming in in the morning, but the idea of being able to sleep in our own beds was too tempting."

"I'm sorry you missed the Satinalia feast. It was—generous. But overall a subdued holiday." Cullen looked thoughtful. "Perhaps we'll have to give some further thought to our official approach to holidays here." And then he glanced at her, nervously. "I ... ah ... wasn't entirely certain where we stood on the subject of Satinalia and ... um ..."

"Gifts?" Antonia smiled, despite her weariness. "I believe I got the only thing I was wishing for before I left." She could feel her cheeks heating as she looked up at him.

"Did you?" Cullen smiled, too, his eyes lighting with happiness. "I would say the same, if I had thought such a thing was possible to wish for." At the top of the stairs, he put her little pack down. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Oh-" Antonia looked around the room. "No, Roya will take care of me. She always does. You watch, in another five minutes there'll be a teatray on the table and buckets of water being hauled up. I feel badly about that, but not badly enough to say no to the hot bath."

"Yes—" Cullen's voice squeaked a bit, and he cleared his throat. Antonia wondered if he was imagining her naked in the bath. Tomorrow she'd regret that she didn't have the energy to imagine him naked in the bath, but tonight it just wasn't in her. "I'm working with the dwarves to install a system of runes and pipes that should make it easier to pipe hot water through the keep."

"That would be true luxury." She took pity on him, clearly standing there wanting to do something, anything to mark her homecoming, and walked across the room toward him. "I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?"

Antonia nodded. "And tomorrow I look forward to being welcomed home properly. Enthusiastically, even." She yawned again. "Sorry."

Cullen relaxed a bit, and she realized that perhaps he wasn't sure what kind of a reception to give her. "Good to know. When you're rested, you know where to find me." He hesitated for a moment, then put his hands gently on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too."

True to Antonia's prediction, Roya appeared on the stairs with a tea tray just then. She raised an eyebrow at them, and Cullen hastily moved away. "Good-night, Commander."

"Roya."

They both watched him go, skirting the servants hauling up pails of water as he went. "You hurried home," Roya said.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Hmph." Putting the tea tray down, Roya pulled out a chair and motioned to Antonia to sit. In many ways, the dwarf was more motherly than Antonia's mother had ever been, and harder to say no to. "If you don't mind my saying so, more than one person will be relieved to have you back this time. Someone's been rather grumpy since you've been gone."

"Has he?" Antonia couldn't help smiling. "I'll have to see what I can do to improve his mood." She poured a cup of the steaming tea, feeling better already.


	22. What People Do

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

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_1 Firstfall, 9:41_

Cullen paced his office. It was really too cold and snowy even for him on the battlements tonight, much as he could have used the longer walk.

He felt conflicted—Antonia was home, but it hadn't been quite what he'd expected. While she had been gone, he'd imagined her homecoming in multiple ways, but none of them had pictured her quite as white and drawn and exhausted as she'd been tonight. He hated that she pushed herself so hard and didn't stop to take care of herself better. Why hadn't the others slowed her down, made her take it more easily? he thought. But he knew the answer—because she was in charge, and they all followed her lead.

Still ... it was hard to feel quite so helpless as he had tonight. He wanted to take care of her, protect her, keep her safe. He had wanted to do that since the first moment he'd seen her. Not that he'd had any designs at that time beyond simply feeling that she looked small and scared and overwhelmed, and wanting to fix that. He'd always had a soft spot for small, helpless creatures.

But it hadn't taken long for him to realize that there was nothing about Antonia Trevelyan that was helpless, and her very determination had touched him even further and made him want to make things easier for her. The more time he had spent with her, the more he had found in her to like. The way she made the best of the situation, the way she stuck to being who she was when the temptation to let people treat her as some kind of holy woman must have been exceptionally great, the small jokes and light-hearted remarks that brightened everyone's moods.

Before he knew it, she had become as important to him as anyone he had ever known. And to his surprise, she had enjoyed his company, sought him out, asked his opinion, made him laugh ...

A stab of pain made him practically double over. He held on to a shelf to remain standing, the pain making it harder to concentrate on anything but the memory, the demons whispering whispering shouting screaming crying into his ear, or was that him crying, begging them to stop, to leave him alone, to go away—

When he finally fought it back, he was on his knees. Above his head was the box. All he had to do was stand up and take it down, and he could feel that power surging through his veins, the power that would keep him strong against the demons and stop the pain.

With an effort, Cullen forced himself to his feet and across the room, where the box wouldn't be in reach. If he broke, even once, could he look himself in the eye? Or Cassandra? Or ... Antonia? Or his men, for that matter.

When the knock came at the door, Cullen was startled, but he welcomed the interruption from the darkness of his thoughts. "Come in." Part of him hoped it would be Antonia; part of him didn't want her to see him this way. Neither part had been expecting the Iron Bull.

"Commander. You busy?"

"At this hour? How did you even know I'd be awake, anyway?"

The Iron Bull came in and pulled up a chair. It shifted under his weight, but held. "Come on, everyone knows about you. Burn the candle at both ends, and sometimes in the middle at the same time." His single eye studied Cullen's face. "Lyrium?"

Cullen nodded warily. "Or the lack thereof."

"Need some? I can lay my hands on a good supply."

"No!" Cullen said explosively. Then, more calmly, "No, thank you."

The Bull's eyebrow rose. "Like that, huh? Damned impressive, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Er ... thank you. Bull, what can I do for you? I'd have thought you'd be as exhausted as An—the Inquisitor."

"Nah. She's a small lady. I'm ... not." The Qunari grinned, flexing his muscles, then sobered. "Actually, that's ..."

"Why you're here," Cullen finished. He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. Was there absolutely no privacy in this blasted place? "You came because you heard somehow about what happened between myself and the Inquisitor, and to tell me if I hurt her, you'll break my kneecaps." He could feel the headache gathering at his temples, throbbing already.

"Got it in one. Nothing personal, you understand."

"Of course. How do you even know?"

The Bull tipped his head back and roared with laughter. "This Inquisition, one big chatty family. Everyone knows everything ... especially all the stuff no one wants anyone to know."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Why?"

"Why? Because it's what people do. Tell me in the Templars you didn't know who was taking a little extra time in the baths with someone else."

"Point," Cullen conceded.

"It's the same here. Besides ... everybody loves her." The Iron Bull's voice softened, and Cullen couldn't help but smile.

"You, too?"

"I wouldn't say no if she came to drag me off to the battlements." That single eye twinkled at Cullen. "I'd've thrown the guy off the wall, though."

Cullen laughed. "I can't say I didn't think about it." Although in actuality, he hadn't been thinking much at all. He remembered being almost dizzy with anticipation and with the nearness of her body, then being pulled from that anticipation and knowing only that he had to do away with the interruption in whatever way necessary, and then the desperate need to kiss her right that second, just in case this turned out to be yet another dream ... and then the unbelievable, incredible feeling of her in his arms, her mouth warm and wet and eager beneath his. He stifled a groan at the memory, so vivid, as arousing as if it had all happened just moments ago.

The Iron Bull stood up, grinning at him knowingly. "Look, I can see you're not getting any sleep tonight, and the Chargers are throwing a welcome-home for me in the tavern. You game?"

"I don't know ..."

"What else are you going to do?"

That was a fair point. The way this headache was going, the whispers would start up again any minute. Usually, Cullen tried to be alone when that happened ... but admittedly, he'd never tried drowning the whispers out with a party full of friends. For that matter, he'd never really had a party full of friends to drown the whispers out with. "Yes, all right. Thank you, Bull."

"Don't mention it. The guys'll never believe I got you to come down." The Iron Bull held the door open to let Cullen through. "And Commander? I approve. I'd really hate to have to break your knee-caps."

"Generous of you." It shouldn't have mattered what a half-naked Qunari mercenary thought, but it really did, and Cullen felt a glow of pride that went a long way toward pushing back the headache and its accompanying demons.


	23. This Is Real

_Happy Tuesday! Thank you all for reading - I hope you enjoy these two as much as I do!_

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_2 Firstfall, 9:41_

After a good night's sleep, Antonia woke late, the sun already moving up the sky. She stretched, going over what she remembered of the day's schedule. Later in the afternoon, she would meet with her advisors in the War Room; she had correspondence piled on the desk to look through; and she needed to sort through the items they had collected in the Western Approach. Tomorrow she'd gather her companions and go over the new armor and weapons to see if anyone wanted any of the new things, but she needed to know what there was first, and to talk with Dagna and Harritt in the Undercroft about potential upgrades to the new equipment.

Most of that could be done this afternoon, leaving her with what remained of the morning to do what she really wanted—which was to go see Cullen. She had dreamed of those kisses on the battlements the whole time she had been gone.

Getting out of bed, she dressed hastily, studying herself in the mirror with some dissatisfaction. She looked as she usually did on the return from an expedition—scratches and healing cuts on her face, dark hollows below her eyes, her skin reddened from the relentless sun reflecting off the sand. Cullen had never seemed to notice a difference before, but then, there had never been kisses before. Still, there was nothing to do about it—she could hide from him until her skin healed and decent rest took away the dark shadows, but that seemed faintly ridiculous.

Turning resolutely from the mirror, she left her quarters. In the Main Hall, she was stopped a number of times by people welcoming her home. From her incognito trips amongst the people with the Iron Bull, which she tried to do fairly regularly, she knew that most of the residents of Skyhold viewed her arrival home from each trip as a new victory in the ongoing war. Seeing her come back safe and sound made them feel that progress was being made. Antonia wasn't sure she felt that way—to her, it seemed more as though every expedition added new questions and more things to do—but she was glad her people had such confidence in her.

She smiled her way through the hall as efficiently as she could without appearing rude. She caught Varric's eye as he looked up from the page he was working on, and he tipped his head in the direction of Cullen's office and grinned at her. Antonia gave him her best cat-with-the-cream smile, and he laughed.

"Tell him I said hello," Varric said as she went by.

"If we have time." Antonia winked at him before ducking through the door into the library wing. She stopped for a moment to say hello to Solas before making her way out the side door that led directly up to Cullen's office. She and the elf were on cordial terms, but there was something about him … somehow she never felt quite comfortable around him.

She paused outside the door, wondering why she felt so nervous. Cullen's solicitude on her arrival last night, his words and his tone, all said he was probably waiting for her on the other side. But it was, after all, practically the middle of the day, and no doubt he had work to do. Maybe she should wait until later.

Then she remembered his kisses, and the feel of his body against hers, and her hand was on the doorknob before she could give it another thought.

Any qualms she had were put to rest by the smile on his face as she came in. Unfortunately, there were three soldiers clustered around his desk. She sighed. Never a quiet moment.

"Inquisitor. Welcome back."

"Thank you, Commander."

The soldiers were exchanging glances, and two of them nudged each other.

"I don't suppose you have some time available. I'd ... like to go over my report from the expedition before this afternoon's meeting in the War Room."

She wasn't fooling the soldiers, but there was no need to be too obvious, after all.

"Of course." Cullen glanced around at his men. "I don't know about you, but I've been cooped up in this office all morning. Let's ... um ..." He gestured at the door.

"Excellent idea."

The soldiers were covering their smirks, but very badly. Antonia swept them all with an irritated glare, and they sobered up immediately.

Cullen gave a last few orders, hasty ones that didn't make all that much sense, and held the door to the battlements open for Antonia. She wondered if he heard the laughter that erupted in the room when they left. His ears were rather red, but that could be anticipation. She felt a bit flushed herself, just looking at his hands and his mouth.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Excellently. With very nice dreams," Antonia added.

"I'm not going to ask. I don't think it would be good for my peace of mind to know what you dream of."

"Possibly not, but it might be very good for your ego."

Cullen blushed, laughing a little. "Well."

He ushered her through the empty room at the top of the tavern, with its piles of lumber and unused furniture, and through on the other side to the battlements. Almost as soon as the door had closed behind them, Antonia turned to him. "Cullen."

"Yes."

And they came together, Antonia on her tiptoes to get as close to him as she could. It was as good as she'd remembered. Better, because more familiar and more sure of each other. She caressed his cheek, the stubble there scraping her hand. Cullen gave a hum of pleasure, breaking off the kiss to nuzzle her hand, kissing the palm.

"I missed you," he said. "I mean, I always do, but this time ..."

"I know. Me, too."

"You did?" Cullen shook his head. "I still—there were times this past week when I thought I dreamed this. I couldn't believe it was real."

"Do you often confuse your dreams with reality?" Antonia teased him.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference." A shadow crossed his face, his tone dark, his eyes looking over her shoulder and seeing something other than the mountains.

Antonia put her arms around his neck, kissing him softly on the mouth. "This is real, Cullen."

He came back from wherever he had gone, his arms tightening around her. "I think that's going to take some getting used to." He studied her face. "And you, are you well? Any surprises in the Approach?"

"The usual, really. There's a whole area of sulphur gas that you can't walk through, made it hard to breathe. Hey!"

"What?"

"I thought we agreed not to talk about the Inquisition."

"Isn't that what you said you wanted to discuss?" he asked teasingly.

"That was for the soldiers' benefit."

"Not that they were fooled." Cullen shook his head, letting go of her and leaning back against the wall.

"You can't really blame them. The Commander of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste? That is some juicy gossip."

Sighing, Cullen said, "You wouldn't believe how quickly word spread through the barracks."

Antonia couldn't help but giggle. "Well, no wonder. Varric said you scared that poor fellow—What's his name?"

"Eustace."

"Eustace? It would be. Varric said you scared him half to death."

"I did?"

She nodded. "Apparently, he thought you were going to throw him over the side if he didn't get lost. And Krem told me that the soldiers have decided to treat this section of the battlements as haunted, just to avoid walking in on us again."

"I see." He looked rather pleased at that, she thought. "But you've been gone ever since—how do you know all this?"

"Varric's sources are very good."

"And how did he know?"

Antonia raised her eyes. "He and Dorian have been ribbing me about you since—for a long time." She really tried to avoid mentioning Haven around him, not wanting to bring up those memories.

"Varric and Dorian knew how you felt?"

"They're very perceptive. They knew how you felt, as well."

Cullen frowned. "Who else knew?"

"At last count? Varric and Dorian and the Iron Bull and Krem, which probably means all the Chargers, Cassandra, Josephine ... I imagine Sera, although she's never brought it up, and it wouldn't surprise me if Vivienne knew. Oh, and Roya, of course. She has a sixth sense about the things that are important to me." Antonia stepped closer, and Cullen put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

"And where have I been while all this was going on?"

"Watching me, from what I've been told." She grinned at him.

Cullen chuckled. "I have done a fair amount of that. You're very beautiful, you know."

Antonia flushed. She wouldn't necessarily have considered herself beautiful, but it made her very happy that he did. "Does it bother you, that so many people know?"

He thought about that for a moment. "I suppose not. All things considered, I would rather my—our—private affairs remain that way." Tipping her chin up with two fingers, he added, "But if there were nothing here for people to talk about, I would regret it more." He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly. Drawing away, he looked up and down the empty battlement. "Scared him half to death, did I?"

"Yes. Yes, you did. Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"I can think of some ways you can avoid that," he murmured.

"Anything in particular?" She reached up and kissed his cheek. "Something like that, perhaps?"

"Possibly."

"Or ... this?" She moved her lips along the line of his jaw, hearing his breathing quicken.

"Yes. Yes, I think so."

"What about this?" Antonia kissed her way down his neck. His breath caught in a little moan, and she nipped the spot.

"Mm. Antonia ..." He took her face in his hands and kissed her, his mouth hot and hungry on hers.

"You believe I'm real now?" she asked when she could breathe again.

"The evidence would seem to suggest it."

"But perhaps you need more proof?"

"It couldn't hurt." From the way his arms tightened around her, Antonia gathered he wasn't letting her go until he was well and truly convinced. Which she didn't mind at all.


	24. Love When It Comes

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

* * *

_4 Firstfall, 9:41_

Antonia was late for the meeting in the War Room, having gotten into a long discussion with Dagna about the relative merits of bloodstone and obsidian for a new grip for her greataxe. She hurried down the hall, her boots clattering on the stone floor, and burst into the War Room.

Cullen's head immediately turned in her direction, his face lighting up. "Inquisitor! We were—"

"Eagerly awaiting your presence," Leliana said. She looked from Antonia to Cullen, her eyes twinkling. "Some of us more than others."

Josephine put her clipboard up in front of her face to mask her laughter, but they could all still hear it.

Cullen's ears were bright red. "I wasn't—I mean, we were—" Now all three women were laughing, and he buried his face in his hands and groaned. "Fine, fine, get it all out of your systems." Which, of course, made them all laugh the harder.

Eventually Leliana regained control of herself ... until Cullen snapped at her, "Can we get back to work now?", which set them all off again.

"Well, that was a nice change of pace," Josephine said at last.

"For you, maybe," Cullen grumbled.

Leliana looked at him, her eyes unusually soft and far away, then dropped her gaze, the smile fading from her face. "Perhaps we should listen to our good commander and get down to business."

"Finally, one of you sees some sense."

Antonia couldn't help but notice he was avoiding looking at her. Considering that they had spent several good hours—very swift-flying hours—on the battlements kissing and talking over the last couple of days, she was fairly certain he wasn't upset with her and was just embarrassed by being caught out in a more or less public setting. She felt badly for it, but honestly it had been so nice to see Josephine and especially Leliana laughing so freely she couldn't be too unhappy. She'd make it up to Cullen later. And with that thought, she tried to put aside all thoughts of that complication and focus on the tasks at hand.

As the meeting came to a close, Leliana said, "Inquisitor, would you mind taking a walk with me? There's something I want to speak with you about."

"Of course." They walked out into the gardens, making their way through the carefully laid out beds of plants. "What's on your mind, Leliana? Does this have to do with me and Cullen?"

"Yes. And no. As with so many things." Leliana smiled a little. "How much do you know of the Fifth Blight?"

"What most people do. Grey Wardens, small group of companions, King Alistair taking the throne and Warden Amell disappearing somewhere."

"A concise summary. Do you also know about me and Warden Amell?"

Antonia lifted her eyebrows. "In a tale somewhere, I read something about his involvement with one of his companions, but my tutor told me to dismiss that as the author's fantasy."

"Your tutor? Oh, my, sometimes you do make me feel old."

"Experienced, I would say." Antonia sighed. "Sometimes I feel as though the Inquisition needs someone at the head with a lot more of it than I have." It wasn't just the Inquisition—how could her advisors take her seriously with such a gap in life experience between them and Antonia? How could Cullen—

"Because he sees hope in you, my dear," Leliana said softly, reading her thoughts. "Hope for all of us, as well as for himself."

"So you don't ... disapprove?"

"No. Not if it is not a distraction, and you both are committed enough to the success of our cause that I believe it will not be. But I do not know if you are aware of what you are committing yourself to. I wanted to tell you my tale—not so much as a warning, but so that you will know what to expect."

"What do you mean?" Antonia asked. Leliana ushered her into a quiet corner and they both sat down among the flowers.

"It is beautiful here, and so peaceful. How she manages to keep so many different varieties of flowers growing in one place at the same time, I do not know, but then, I have never been someone who grew things. I have always been more about destruction." She closed one small gloved hand, looking at the fist wistfully. "I destroyed many things in my early life, things of my own as well as things of others. And when I could not take it any longer, I fled to the Chantry for succor and solace. I was there, in Lothering, when the Blight came to Ferelden, and I heard—" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that I knew I could assist the Grey Wardens in their cause, and I joined them."

"What were they like? I've met King Alistair, briefly, but obviously not Warden Amell."

"Alistair is not at all like he was—he has grown up a great deal, and that is both good and bad. Good for the country, but I miss my friend. He has buried much of what he once was, although not all, thankfully. As for Thomas—Warden Amell ... he was shy. Quiet. Thoughtful. The very opposite of what I was then. Perhaps that's why I was drawn to him; I had not intended to fall in love with him, and it took me a long time to be certain that he returned my feelings, but eventually ..."

Antonia waited while Leliana communed with her past, a smile passing over her face.

"It was glorious, at times, and very hard at others, and that is what I wanted to talk to you about. You see, those of us who live in these times must be prepared for the end to come quickly, and without the chance to say good-bye. Thomas and I never knew if we would be alive at the end of the day. Which added much to the intensity of our feelings, but had us constantly on edge, as well. He was not a quarreler, but we certainly had our spats." She looked at Antonia directly. "Cullen has a great deal of control, but also more of a temper, and you are not without your own stubbornness. I imagine the tension will lead to some disagreements between the two of you. And the constant danger will be a strain—greater, perhaps, because you face the brunt of it, and he has already lost you once."

"In Haven."

"Yes. He blamed himself that you were left behind while the rest of us escaped."

"I know." Antonia looked at her spymaster questioningly. "Do you regret it, what happened between you and Warden Amell?"

"No. Never," Leliana said immediately. "I love Thomas; and he loves me."

"'Loves'?" Antonia echoed. "I thought no one knew where he was."

"The Chantry doesn't know where he is. The Seekers were looking for him in order to convince him to become the head of the Inquisition, but—he had no interest. I respected that, and I would not have seen him forced into a role he did not want. And that is, of course, the other danger. You want to think that when it's all over there is a happy ending, a lifetime together, but so often the work goes on, and sometimes it continues to take precedence over what the heart wants." She looked at Antonia with sad eyes. "Sometimes it is not a fairy tale."

Antonia met the look squarely. "I'm not looking for a fairy tale. I wasn't even looking for—what I found, but now that I have it—"

"I know, and I am pleased for both of you. Truly. After everything that has happened, I still believe in love, and I always will. But I also want for you—particularly you—to walk into this with your eyes open. Cullen has seen too much not to guard his heart, at least a little, to prepare himself for things to go badly, but— As you say, you are inexperienced. You do not know what you may be called upon to do, or what you may have to sacrifice."

"Do any of us?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Like you, I would rather take love when it comes than push it away now in case I have to give it up later. Tomorrow can take care of itself; the tasks of the day are enough. More than enough, many days." Antonia smiled.

"An excellent point." Leliana got to her feet, reaching down a hand to help Antonia up. "I am glad we had this chat, my dear. I always thought you had a good head on your shoulders, and I am proud to have you as our Inquisitor."

"Thank you." Impulsively, Antonia leaned forward and hugged the other woman. "For everything."


	25. A Near Thing

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

* * *

_10 Firstfall, 9:41_

Thin tendrils of shadow were snaking out from the walls, beginning to coat the floor. Cullen thrashed against the invisible chains, but they held him down securely, and around him the demons laughed, their voices harsh in their flaming throats. He didn't know which was worse, the flames or the dark fingers of the shades, which burned in a different way as they flowed over his skin.

But the worst was yet to come, when _she_ sauntered out of the swirling darkness, tassels twirling, her voice anything but harsh. It caressed inside his ears, inside his head, making him feel things, making him want things, until he was ready to beg her to take the chains off so he could touch her.

Then her voice changed, becoming crisp and light and familiar and dear, and he wanted so badly to reach for her, to accept the offer she made. Slowly her face lowered toward his, and he could see the bright brown eyes—

Cullen sat up in bed, his heart pounding with horror. The dream wasn't new, but Antonia's face on the desire demon? That was new. And awful. Stomach-turningly awful. He was covered in sweat, and he tossed the covers off the bed entirely, letting the cold air coming in through the damaged roof cool him off. He might tell people he was just waiting for the rest of the keep to be repaired before he got around to the roof above his office, but truly it was because he needed the chill of the night air to cool the fevers of his dreams and the night sweats that came from the lack of lyrium.

He could almost see it glinting in the bottle downstairs, and before he knew what he was doing he was out of bed, his bare feet finding the rungs of the ladder. Halfway down, he thought of Antonia's habit of simply throwing herself over the side and sliding down the outer rungs of any ladder she came to, in order to save time. He laughed, and with the laugh he came back to himself.

Cullen reversed course and climbing the ladder again, huddling at the top, shaking with the chill of the room and the stark reality of how easy it would have been to lose every inch of control he had gained in one moment of desperation.

That had been a near thing—he hadn't come that close to taking the lyrium in a long time. He still wanted it, badly, his muscles cramping as he sat there at the top of the ladder, shaking with the pain. Not for the first time it occurred to him that perhaps he was doing the Inquisition a disservice by offering himself to them in this impaired condition. If he was taking the lyrium, he would have access to that power, and he wouldn't be struggling so badly to do something as simple as sleep. Surely a better-rested commander would be better at his job.

_If you'd been taking the lyrium at Haven_ ... He shut his ears to that hateful voice. No Templar talent, no amount of rest, could have changed what happened at Haven.

In the meantime, if he didn't at least try to get some more sleep he'd regret it tomorrow.

Hours later, he gave up. Sleep had been elusive, and there had been more than one abrupt awakening from a disturbing nightmare. When he finally gave up and went for a rigorous training session and a hot bath, he was still so tired he almost fell asleep in the tub.

When Antonia sat next to him at breakfast, he was sitting with a plate of rapidly cooling toast and a cup of tea, staring off into the distance. "You look terrible," she said.

"Thank you," he snapped. "So do you. I mean ... oh, Maker's breath, I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Clearly exhausted."

"Now you're finishing my sentences for me? Perhaps you'd like to cut my meat as well." So much for apologizing. He should just get up and leave if he was going to snap at her with every sentence.

"If you had some, I might," Antonia said coolly. "And you ought to have some—it'll keep your strength up."

Cullen bit his tongue against another acidic reply. She hadn't done anything wrong, except that the demons in his dreams had used her voice and her face over and over again. He didn't even want to look at her, too afraid he would see them instead.

"Hey," she said softly. "Talk to me."

"Why? You can't fix it. No one can."

"I know that, but you don't have to go through it alone. Not anymore."

Now he did look up, meeting her eyes. They were different than in his nightmares—they were soft, and concerned, and tender. The demons had never looked at him like that. No one had ever looked at him quite like that.

"And don't you dare tell me that it's sweet of me to offer and pat me on the head," she added, and her eyes warmed with humor. Another attribute demons simply didn't have. The nightmares had awakened in him a fear that someday he would look at her and see a demon, or he would hurt her by lashing out in a moment when nightmare and reality came together, the type of moments brought on by the lack of lyrium. But perhaps the details of her, the bits the nightmares left out, would keep that from happening, he told himself.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Even though it is sweet of you to offer." He smiled back at her, reaching for her hand and squeezing. "I'll be all right now."

"Will you?"

"Yes," he said, hoping to convince both of them. Leaving both tea and toast untouched, he got up from the table and went back to work.

Midway through the morning, a soldier appeared with a tray of hot, appetizing food and even hotter and more appetizing tea. The soldier put it down on the corner of his desk, clearing his throat nervously. "The ... ah, the Inquisitor says, ser, that if I don't show her a clean tray in an hour she's going to come up here and feed you herself." He shrank away, clearly not sure how Cullen was going to take it.

But Cullen was famished, and she was absolutely delightfully relentless, and for another day he had won against the nightmares and the darkness and the temptation, thanks to her. He reached for the tray and finished everything, and even managed to squeeze in a small nap.


	26. Off the Edge of Skyhold

_Today's chapter, which could be considered moderately NSFW, was a lot of fun to write. I hope you enjoy it, too. Thanks for reading, all!  
_

* * *

_14 Firstfall, 9:41_

It was getting dark before Antonia was able to slip away from Josephine's dinner party and hurry up to the top of the battlements. She felt guilty for keeping Cullen waiting, but it wasn't the first time one of them had had trouble making it to their regularly scheduled after-dinner meeting on "their" battlement.

She was relieved to see he was still there, leaning on the wall and watching the sun set over the mountains. Antonia stopped to look at him in the waning light. After enduring a meal sitting between a very short, weedy noble from Tantervale who kept asking her questions in his squeaky voice and being displeased when she knew the answers and a plump noble from Ferelden's bannorn who slobbered over his food and scratched himself at the table, she had a renewed appreciation for Cullen. His combination of intelligence and strength was rare enough, but he was innately a gentleman, as well.

And a damn good-looking one, she thought, looking at his profile.

The anticipation of his touch that had been building all during dinner, as she watched Josephine's ornate clock and did her best to make the Inquisition look good to her dinner partners, caught fire now.

"Ah, there you are," he said, turning to look at her. "I was just thinking it was getting—"

Antonia threw herself into his arms, reaching up to grasp the back of his head and pull it down to hers, kissing him with fervor.

Cullen groaned, returning the kiss with equal passion. His hands dropped to her hips, gripping them tightly.

Hungry for more, Antonia pressed kisses along the edge of his jaw and drew her mouth down his neck, as far as she could before his ever-present breastplate got in her way.

Tilting his head to give her better access, Cullen whispered, "Antonia ..."

"Mm." She was nibbling on his throat now, scraping her teeth along his skin. She dipped her tongue into the hollow of his throat. She wanted more—she wanted to keep going down further, doing things that made him gasp and moan the way he was doing now. Each little sound increased the ache inside her. But the damn breastplate was thwarting her, cutting into her skin as she tried to taste more of him.

Cullen seemed to sense her frustration, or possibly to feel some of his own. Abruptly he lifted her up until she was sitting on a broken piece of battlement, pressing himself impossibly close against the heat between her legs. Antonia heard herself moan at the friction, and at how hard he was against her. She wrapped her legs around his waist to hold him there. Cullen's hand tangled in her hair, tipping her head back so he could reach her neck, trailing hungry wet kisses along it.

Antonia was glad she wasn't afraid of heights, leaning back into space the way she was with only Cullen's strong arms anchoring her. She considered briefly, and with some amusement, the irony of coming so far only to fall off the battlements while kissing the general of her forces. She imagined what Varric and Dorian would say.

Then Cullen was kissing her again, rubbing himself against her, and she couldn't think at all. Antonia reached for the front of his shirt, wanting to twine her fingers in the fabric, but it was stretched so tight across the metal of that damned breastplate her hands couldn't get purchase. The moment was broken.

She tore her mouth away from his. "Cullen. Cullen!"

"Mm?" He blinked at her, his eyes hazy with passion.

"We should really try this inside sometime." So he could take off his armor, and then she could rip his shirt off him. She'd seen him shirtless on the training ground, but now she wanted to see, touch, and taste all at once. Possibly even bite.

"Mm." Cullen lifted her carefully down from the wall, moving away from her to let the cold air begin to relieve the heat between them. Then he looked back at the wall, an expression of horror crossing his face. He looked at her, then over the side at the sheer drop to the snowy ground far below. "Maker's breath!"

Antonia laughed. "You didn't know you'd done that?"

"Um ... no. It might surprise you to know that rational thought was ... a little beyond me at the time. Why didn't you stop me?"

"Stop you? Are you joking?"

"I could have dropped you right off the edge of Skyhold!"

"What a way to go." She winked at him.

"You're not funny."

"So, then, you'll give the whole indoors thing some thought? Where there are surfaces that won't kill you if you fall off them? Where perhaps one of us could be wearing less restrictive—and painful—clothing?" She poked at the breastplate with some irritation.

"I ... will." He looked uncertain, though, and Antonia reached for his hand.

"What's wrong? Talk to me."

"It's not that I don't want to ... take this further. Maker, you know I do. Just thinking about it ..." He shivered. "But this is still so new, and so unexpected, and so ... unbelievable. "

"I can wait, Cullen."

He squeezed her hand in response, then took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. "All right, then. I think I'm going to ... take a walk. Cool off a bit."

"Good-night." Antonia let go of his hand reluctantly. She leaned back against the wall, watching him walk away. At least, if she had to wait, he was a man well worth waiting for.


	27. You and I

_Thanks for reading, one and all! You make my day.  
_

* * *

_19 Firstfall, 9:41_

"I believe it's your move, Inquisitor."

Antonia glanced up at him, feeling her cheeks turn red. Cullen was smirking at her, clearly having been following the line of thought that had her staring at his hands instead of actually playing the game. Of course, the fact that he was actually stroking the edge of the board, just the way she wished he would stroke ... She dragged her thoughts away from that particular image. "If this is your strategy, it's—"

"Rather effective?"

"You know, two could play at that game, too."

"You're probably right." He looked only a little abashed. "But I still haven't beaten you—I had to try something."

"You could try playing better," she suggested, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Ouch." Cullen chuckled, moving a piece.

It was a good move, and required some thought. Antonia leaned over the board, forecasting moves.

Cullen cleared his throat, and she frowned at him. It wasn't really the time for a distraction. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just ... while I have you here, there's something I thought we should discuss."

Antonia looked up at him, her hand hovering over a piece. "This sounds serious."

"It is."

"Just so you know, you're not allowed to break up with me until you beat me at chess." She said it lightly, but her heart was hammering with nervousness.

"Duly noted." He smiled.

"Good. All right, if it isn't that, then what is it?"

"You can go ahead and make your move."

"Not until you make yours." She took her hand away from the board. "I can wait."

Cullen sighed, absently rubbing the back of his neck. "It's about the assault on Adamant."

"Okay." They were leaving in three days—they had both agreed this was pretty much the last moment they were going to have together before the burden of preparing for the army's movement fell on them.

"I had rather been counting on the game to make this easier."

"Fine. But if you win this one, it doesn't count."

"Fair enough." She moved the piece she had been planning on moving, and Cullen frowned at the board.

"This ... thing here," he said. "You and I. I don't want it to be a distraction when we go into battle."

"Oh. Is that what you're worried about? I don't think it will be a problem."

"You don't think it will be a problem?" He looked up, putting the piece in his hand hastily down in entirely the wrong place. "We're both going to be in constant danger, but you most of all. And I—after Haven ..."

"There's absolutely no reason to assume Adamant will be another Haven!"

"There's no reason to assume it won't be, either. It was built to withstand a siege! I can't even guarantee I can get you inside at all, much less be able to ensure your safety once you're in there," Cullen said in a furious whisper, mindful of all the people in the gardens around them.

"It's not your job to ensure my safety!"

"It bloody well is, too!" He shouted it at full volume this time. "As the commander of the armies of the Inquisition, it absolutely is—if it comes down to it, you are part of that army, Inquisitor." He laid a heavy emphasis on the title.

Antonia was on the verge of shouting back at him, but the sudden silence in the gardens brought her back to where they were. She put her hands on her heated cheeks, trying to calm down. "So what you're saying is, you think that in our concern for each other, we won't be able to do our jobs?"

"Something like that, yes." Cullen shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly trying to follow her lead and bring the conversational level down.

"I take it you had some idea in mind of how to deal with that when you brought it up?"

"I was thinking ... perhaps ... we could just not ... be, when we're not in Skyhold."

Antonia's eyebrows flew up. Did he think she could just stop caring for him that way, put her emotions away so tidily? She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. "If you can do that, Commander," she said, laying her own emphasis on the title, "you're more impressive than I am." She reached out, tipping her king over. "I forfeit; you win."

She got up, hurrying away from the table, trying to get inside and to her quarters before she started crying. While she was all for the residents of Skyhold knowing she was human, seeing her cry was a whole different kettle of fish.

"Antonia, wait." He was behind her as she closed the door to her quarters and started around the platform toward the stairs. "I'm sorry; that's not how that went in my head at all."

She turned around to face him. "Make it go better."

His hands moved, grasping the air around him. "I ... don't know how I'm going to watch you walk into a battle this big without thinking of that last moment at Haven and how helpless I felt. I failed you, and you nearly lost your life because of it. I—we—nearly lost our chance at all of this."

"I know. I feel the same. I felt it then."

"You did?"

Antonia nodded. She swiped at an escaped tear impatiently with the back of her hand. "I did. Turning away from you then was the hardest thing I'd ever done. It would be so much harder now."

"I didn't know that then," Cullen whispered. He cupped her face in one hand, his thumb wiping away a second errant tear. "If I had, I'm not sure I could have ..." He shook his head. "I can't believe I made you cry. I'm sorry."

"With any luck, it won't be the last time."

"You have a strange definition of luck."

"Consider the alternatives." Antonia turned and headed the rest of the way up the stairs to her quarters. She sank onto the low couch, moving a pile of books aside to make room on it for Cullen. He sat down, stretching his legs out with a sigh. "Leliana talked to me about this issue before. Relationships in times of great danger, and all that. Did you know that she and Warden Amell were together?"

Cullen nodded. "I did. I knew him in the Circle, long ago. We were about the same age, and of similar temperaments. I wouldn't say we were friends, but he spent a lot of time in the library and I tried to get assigned there as often as I could, so we talked occasionally. He was very quiet, never made any trouble until there at the end. Good thing for the world he did just then, too." He tilted his head in Antonia's direction. "What did Leliana say?"

"She said to prepare for arguments. Well, no ... she said she and the Warden had spats, but you and I were likely to have arguments, and lots of them. The strain of constantly watching each other in danger, and all that. She called me stubborn, and said you have a 'temper.'"

"Only when someone tries to tell me how to do my job." He cast a not-entirely-joking glance sidelong at Antonia. Then he shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor as he went on. "That's a very real concern of mine—that we'll get into battle and you'll decide that you know what you and your team are doing and you won't wait for orders, because that's what you're used to. But a massive assault like this one is different and it requires every piece to play its part, and if you stop to argue with me then, people will be in danger. And I'm talking our men, not just you."

Antonia felt abashed. He was absolutely right, and she might well do that, and she hadn't let him speak earlier and explain, just gone off impulsively thinking she knew what was what. "I will try my best not to."

"Good. You know, you never argue with Josephine when it comes to diplomacy, or Leliana when it comes to spycraft, but—"

Her hand flew to her mouth. She really hadn't realized how that looked. "That's because I know more about your branch, not because of—anything to do with you, really, except that you're good to talk to and I'm interested, and sometimes a discussion becomes more of a debate. I never meant to make you feel as though I didn't respect you or your role here. I absolutely do. You know that, don't you?" She specifically didn't move or try to touch him, wanting to keep this on the Inquisition plane as much as possible.

"Of course I know that. Why else do you think I let you get away with it?" He gave her half a smile. "Well, that and because you're really beautiful when you argue strategy. And you often make good points; it's valuable to me to have your input."

"But I could probably make them more tactfully."

"Something like that."

Antonia ran a hand through her hair. "So, where does that leave us and the assault on Adamant?"

"I still think the best idea is to leave the personal at home and only meet in our public roles, but apparently I said that really badly before."

"I don't know at this point if you said it badly or if I heard it badly," Antonia said. "I—I'll try, Cullen. I can't promise more than that."

"Honestly, I can't, either." He reached out a hand for her. "Come here."

She moved to sit next to him, and he took her face in his hands, kissing her softly, gently. As the kiss went on, Antonia didn't know who moved first, but she found herself lying back on the couch as Cullen pressed more kisses down the side of her neck. He started undoing the buttons on her jacket, kissing all the bare skin that was uncovered as he went. Antonia cupped the back of his head with her hand, her fingers playing in his hair.

He reached the top of the silk camisole she wore beneath the jacket, and she shivered at the feel of his breath through the delicate fabric. It was too much, right this second. Antonia put both hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

"Cullen," she whispered. He looked at her quizzically. "Let's pick this up, right here, same number of buttons, when we get back."

Cullen sat up. "Promise?"

"I promise."


	28. Take Care of Her

_Thanks for reading, all! Have a good weekend!  
_

* * *

_22 Firstfall, 9:41_

"So, Curly, looking forward to the big scrap?"

Cullen looked down at the dwarf. "If anyone but you had asked me that question, they wouldn't like the answer."

Varric chuckled. "I get that a lot."

"Are you looking forward to it?" Cullen asked.

"More like scared shitless."

"Sensible man."

The dwarf looked odd atop a horse, clearly out of his element. Cullen wondered why he was still here. Years ago, he'd have given good odds on Varric spending the rest of his life in that seedy tavern.

"Do you miss Kirkwall, Varric?"

"Are you crazy? I'd cry tears of joy if I could have a bottle of that piss they sell at the Hanged Man under the name of ale. I'd even be happy to see Aveline right now ... although less happy if she'd seen the latest chapter of _Swords &amp; Shields_, because then she'd be kicking my ass." He glanced at Cullen. "I don't have to ask if you miss it."

"No. The Inquisition is much better. In every way." Far ahead, Cullen could see Antonia riding with the Iron Bull and the Chargers, all of them singing some kind of riotous song.

"For you, I can see that."

"Varric, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. Can't promise an answer, though."

"How did you keep Hawke safe all that time?"

The dwarf chuckled. "What makes you think I had anything to do with that?"

"I never saw her without you, and somehow you both survived those years, despite the near-constant fighting. It seemed as though a day couldn't go by without hearing about the Champion's most recent fight."

"There was a lot of it." Varric sighed. "At least in the Inquisition, the only fights that happen at Skyhold are the ones someone's paying for. Nice to have the break, now and then."

Cullen let that one pass. He didn't particularly like that there were prize fights at Skyhold, but they entertained the men, and the rules were followed fairly well, so he hadn't felt the need to put a stop to the practice yet.

"I don't know, Commander. Maybe Bianca and I are just lucky."

"Will you try to use that luck on the Inquisitor?" Cullen asked softly. He should trust in the Maker, let the Maker be Antonia's shield, as the Chant said, but somehow he wanted ... assurances. An edge against the fates that seemed bent on her destruction.

"I'll do what I can."

They rode in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought. Cullen was thinking of Hawke and Antonia, of their differences and similarities. Hawke was waiting for them near Adamant, and would join in the assault with a Grey Warden from Kirkwall. He wondered how the two women would work together. "How did Fenris do it?" he asked abruptly.

"Do what?" Varric asked. "Oh. That." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "It was different because more often than not, they were in it side-by-side. Easier in some ways, harder in others." He looked ahead now, as well, smiling briefly as he recognized the song the Chargers were singing. "They're very different."

"Do you think so?"

"No doubt about it."

"Who would you rather follow into battle?"

"Oh, no, you don't, Commander. Word gets around I played favorite hero and one or the other of those very scary women will get pissed at me—or both. And then you're all out one extremely charming and charismatic dwarf."

Cullen smiled at that. "In some ways ..." He hesitated, feeling disloyal. "I'd almost feel better if Hawke was taking the lead."

To his surprise, Varric laughed heartily. "Of course you would. Take a nice weight off your shoulders, make it more likely that someone else would take the brunt of the assault. No surprise there; none at all." He looked sideways at Cullen. "She's got a good head on her, Commander. Doesn't quite have Hawke's physical force, but she's good enough with the greataxe to handle most of what comes at her, and she's ... ahem, better at tactics." He shrugged. "Has to be, really, though, because she doesn't have a broody elf with a sword as tall as he is hacking away at her side. We're good, but it's not the same."

"She has you, and she has Dorian."

"Yep. Blackwall's good, too, and motivated on this one."

"You were with her at Haven, Varric." For the life of him, Cullen couldn't stop seeing her pale, determined face as she turned away from him in the Haven Chantry. He didn't know why this felt so much like Haven, but it did. He wasn't going to be happy until he had her back safe and sound at Skyhold, in his arms on top of the battlements.

He thought of her soft mouth kissing him, her hands on the back of his neck—and then in his mind's eye her hands flowed into deep dark shadow and wrapped around him was a shade, moaning its darkness into his ear, and it was pushing him backward and he was falling ...

"Whoa, Curly, you all right?" Varric had a hand on his arm, steadying him.

Cullen rubbed a hand over his forehead. There was an itch deep under his skin as if his veins were calling out for the power of the lyrium as he prepared himself for the upcoming assault; apparently fighting that itch was taking away more of his focus than he had been aware of. "I'm fine," he reassured the dwarf. "Just a little tired."

"I hear sleep's a good cure for that." Varric's eyes on him were kind.

"So they tell me. I wouldn't know."

Months ago, the idea that so many people might know, or at least guess, what struggles he lived with every day would have made Cullen extremely uncomfortable, but slowly he was learning to relax, to let people in just a little. They made it difficult not to. And he was grateful that in their love for the Inquisitor they followed so devotedly, her companions made room for those who were important to her.

"Well, don't overdo it too much, will you? Wouldn't be much of an Inquisition without you."

"Thank you, Varric." Cullen's eyes sought far ahead of him again and found the slender figure with the short brown hair. "You'll take care of her?"

"Much as I can."

"That's all I ask." Maybe, if they could get through this, and get back home, maybe then he could relax a bit.


	29. To Storm the Fortress

_Thank you all for reading! I appreciate it!  
_

* * *

_24 Firstfall, 9:41_

The air was filled with noise—shouts and screams of men, the crashing of fireballs, the creaking of trebuchets, the breaking and falling of the stone of Adamant Fortress. Antonia didn't like the chaos; she was used to being able to center herself a little before a fight. An advantage to moving in smaller groups. But this was full-on combat, which wasn't at all her forte.

Cullen, on the other hand, was in his element. He was all over the siege field, fixing an issue with a trebuchet, bellowing orders to his subordinates, getting a constant stream of messages in from other parts of the battlefield and sending his responses back. He seemed to have the entire battle planned out in his mind; it was no wonder he was so good at chess.

Antonia checked on her companions. Dorian was talking Blackwall's ear off—she liked to take them together in tense situations because the mage needed to get his nervous chatter out before a big fight and Blackwall would just stand there stolidly and block him out, lost in his dark thoughts. Varric was polishing Bianca. Not that she needed it, but caring for her kept his mind off his own welfare.

Vivienne and Solas were out there with the mages somewhere; the Iron Bull and Krem and the Chargers were with the siege forces, ready to assault the walls. Sera and the strange spirit, Cole, were being used as messengers today—their skills weren't really tailored to a frontal assault. Cassandra was assisting Cullen, acting as his lieutenant among the soldiers preparing to assail the walls.

Antonia didn't want to think about everything there was to lose today. If she thought that way, she couldn't do it. Besides, if they lost, it was more than just the beloved companions who were among these forces who would suffer. They would take the brunt, but the rest of Thedas would feel the impact.

It was what was on her shoulders every day, that she and a small group of people stood between Thedas and disaster, but the noise and confusion brought it home to her with startling clarity.

"Inquisitor." She looked up to see Blackwall watching her. "Give each minute what it can bear; if you give it the weight of an age, you won't be able to hold it."

Dorian blinked at the Grey Warden. "That was startlingly poetic."

Antonia nodded at Blackwall—she understood what he meant. And she'd always thought there was poetry in him somewhere. He had been deeply hurt at some point in his life, clearly, and was holding himself away from the world for some very dark reason, but at heart there was something in him that belied that darkness.

"Are you all ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be." Varric shouldered Bianca, looking up at the fortress. "I really thought I was done with this after Kirkwall."

"A true adventurer's work is never over, my dear Varric."

"Oh, I know that, Sparkler. I just don't know when I signed up to be a true adventurer." Varric caught himself, looking down at his boots and sighing heavily. "Yes, I do. When I thought I could get rich off a Deep Roads expedition."

Antonia patted him on the shoulder. She knew he blamed himself for the red lyrium—but if it hadn't been him discovering that idol, it would have been someone else.

"Are you ready, Inquisitor?"

She turned to see Cullen coming up to her. In contrast to her rather sober team, Cullen's face was lit almost feverishly with the exhilaration of combat, his eyes glittering.

"I believe so. Is it time for us now?"

"Yes. Our men will scale the battlements with the ladders, take out what they find there, and clear the way for you inside the doors, once we breach them."

She frowned up at the top of the fortress. It looked very high.

"They'll get there," Cullen assured her, seeing the direction of her gaze. "We've been training for this; they know what to do. Wait for them to clear out the worst of it before moving forward—they're to take the brunt of the assault, sparing you to deal with the what's inside."

"I can get through," she said. "Tell them not to take risks on my behalf; I can handle getting in after the doors are breached. I don't want the men endangering themselves unnecessarily."

His face hardened, settling into the stern, fierce look that made the men call him the Great Bear. "With all due respect, Inquisitor, that is not your role. The soldiers are trained to support you in this assault; your skills are better reserved for what lies inside." He reached for her left arm, shaking her hand in front of her face. The mark was hidden there, under her glove. It was tingling just slightly, telling her that there was a rift inside the fortress somewhere. "If you fall trying to preserve a soldier's life, who will close the rift?"

That wasn't right. No one should have to die, not if she could prevent it. Inside her, Antonia was sick over the position she was in; but the Inquisitor understood what the Commander was saying.

"Our men know the risks. They take them willingly," Cullen reminded her. "Let them do their jobs." He let go of her arm.

"Right. Of course." She took a deep breath, nerving herself for what was to come. "Thank you, Commander."

He gave her a brisk, approving nod. For the briefest of moments, their eyes held, both remembering Haven. But they had agreed to leave that aside. The Inquisition needed them in their official roles today. Everything else would be for later.

Now the Inquisitor just needed to ensure that there _was_ a later. Turning away from Cullen, she gathered her team, preparing to storm the fortress.


	30. What We're Afraid Of

_Happy Friday, all! I hope everyone has a lovely weekend. Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_24 Firstfall, 9:41_

Antonia poked a finger at the ground above her head. Below her head? She wasn't entirely sure. Around her, the others came into view, several of them walking on what looked like walls or ceilings. She got her legs under her and tried to orient herself properly.

"Well, shit," Varric said from behind her. "Hawke, we're in the Fade again."

"Can't say I enjoyed that last time, Varric."

"Me, either."

Antonia's first thought was for how they were going to get out of there; her second thought was for Cullen. He would be going out of his mind with worry when she found out. She couldn't stop seeing his face in that last moment in Haven, picturing him looking like that again, imagining—_Stop it_, she told herself sternly. That wasn't going to help.

She looked around her for something familiar and solid to hold on to, and latched on to Dorian, who looked annoyed instead of discomfited, unlike the rest of them.

"My trips to the Fade usually look rather different than this," he said. His grey eyes searched her face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm okay ... I think. I just keep thinking of how we're going to get back home, and—" She didn't want to say it out loud, but Dorian nodded, following her train of thought.

"And that's not going to help."

"No. Will you—stick close, Dorian, and slap me or something if I start going off the rails?"

"Absolutely." He patted her shoulder.

Wandering through the Fade, Antonia found herself regaining all the memories she had lost from the Conclave and from her first experience in the Fade ... and it was more comforting to know the truth than she would have expected. It was a relief to be certain, finally, once and for all, that her presence, the mark on her hand, the way she had become involved in the Inquisition, were all accidents. She felt infinitely more confident in her ability to live up to her role knowing that there was no divinity involved. She didn't know if anyone else would feel that way, but in the long run, it was her task to find a way to do the job as best she could, and she would rather be Antonia Trevelyan, fumbling her way in the dark, than Antonia Trevelyan, bearer of all the hopes of Andraste.

"How are you holding up?" Hawke asked, falling into step next to her. The Champion of Kirkwall was the taller by several inches, and Antonia felt rather small next to her. She was grateful that Hawke seemed willing to follow her lead, rather than, as the more experienced campaigner, taking charge herself, but knowing that the other woman was so much more used to these strange experiences, it was hard to feel confident.

"A little nervous," she admitted.

"Me, too. I'm looking forward to getting out of here and getting home."

"What's Broody up to right now, Hawke?" Varric asked on the other side.

"Babysitting." She looked at Antonia. "Our daughter Bianca; she's two. Fenris thinks I'm in Ferelden for a few weeks to deal with issues related to our old home in Lothering. He'd be furious if he knew I was putting myself in danger without him. So I don't tell him."

Varric chuckled. "There's a healthy relationship for you."

"Yes, well, it works for us." Hawke looked down at her feet. "I wish he was here, though," she said softly, shivering. "Too much like the Deep Roads for me."

"How do you do it?" Antonia asked.

"Do what?"

"This. Still. I guess, really, _why_ do you do it?"

"Good question, Herald. I remember hearing her say 'as soon as I get out of Kirkwall, I'm never lifting a blade again' quite a few times." Varric smiled at his friend.

"I lie a lot."

"That's my line!"

"It's a good one, too."

They laughed together with the easiness of long friendship.

It was the last laugh any of them would share for quite some time; the closer they got to the breach in the sky that would take them home, the harder it was to move. Their fears were weighing them down.

Antonia couldn't help picturing Cullen's worried face, wondering if he was holding up; wondering if they were ever going to get out of here. Next to her, Hawke appeared white-faced and drawn, no doubt thinking of her husband and child. Perhaps it was easier, Antonia thought, given how new things were between herself and Cullen ... but perhaps not. Would they ever have the chance to be together again?

"Keep your chin up," Dorian whispered to her. "It's not as dark as it seems."

"How are you doing?"

He shrugged. "I've been in the Fade before; and I fear things, but nothing as earth-shaking as how much I want to get out of here."

Notably, Blackwall appeared to be as little affected as Dorian, striding stolidly along without talking. Stroud, the other Grey Warden, was similarly taciturn.

"Why doesn't everyone say what we're afraid of," Hawke suggested. "If we say it out loud, maybe it's less scary."

"You first," Varric said.

"All right, then. Losing Fenris. It's the real reason why I don't tell him about these things—if he's at home safe, then I can get through something like this; I can't watch him in danger any longer. Varric?"

"Ruining my boots." The dwarf grinned up at Hawke, who rolled her eyes.

"Riiight. Blackwall?"

Blackwall grunted, refusing to be drawn in, and on being appealed to, Stroud merely shook his head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of another.

"Fine, then. Dorian?"

"Have you met my mother?" the mage asked, but Antonia was sure that wasn't it. Not that his parents sounded like a picnic, but that wasn't what was at the heart of Dorian's fears.

Hawke looked at her next, and she considered making a flip answer the way Varric and Dorian had, but decided against it. It was the truth, and if expressing it could make this easier, she was all for it. "I'm afraid everyone's going to know that I don't know what I'm doing, and the Inquisition will fail because I couldn't lead it."

To Antonia's surprise, Hawke snorted. "Let me let you in on a secret, Inquisitor. Or a couple. First, you're never going to know what you're doing. Second, no one else cares. All they care about is that you're doing it, so they don't have to." She shook her head, her eyes bleak. "An entire city stood by and wrung its hands while the Arishok prepared for mass slaughter. They made me Champion when I killed him, but I could have just as easily been Viscount, and all because I'd been willing to pick up a sword and they hadn't. So don't worry about everyone knowing—they never will, because they're not looking to see if you know what you're doing. They're looking to see if you fail." She shrugged. "So it's simple—never fail."

"But no pressure," Varric said.

Actually, it was comforting. Trying to give the impression that she knew how to be the Inquisitor was ridiculous—no one knew how to be the Inquisitor. Except her, because she was it. "Let's do this, then. People are waiting for us." She and Hawke looked at one another and nodded; they were ready to go.

* * *

_A/N: In case I haven't mentioned it previously, Hawke here is Evelyn Hawke of my stories "At Your Side" and "A Future to Be Had".  
_


	31. Memories

_Thanks for reading, all!  
_

* * *

_24 Firstfall, 9:41_

"Look out!" came the shout across the battlefield, and Cullen looked up from a dispatch just in time to see the top of the tower crumble and collapse. Figures could be seen falling through the air, and his heart fell with them ... but with a certain sense of inevitability. Knowing that this had been the disaster he had feared it would be brought a certain sense of relief; there was nothing left to be afraid of now.

Then there was a green flash across the sky. Cullen's heart leaped up again; he knew that color of green. He had seen it often enough glowing in her hand. He grabbed Eustace, who happened to be the nearest soldier. "Go find out what happened. Get as close as you can."

"Yes, ser."

Cullen returned to the dispatches, but there was an angry hum in his ears that made it hard to concentrate. His temperature was up, too, but there was no time to worry about that or even to think about how to block the whispers of memory the hum was shaping itself into. The battle still needed him, no matter what else was happening.

The demons—the real ones, not the ones of his memory, he reminded himself—were swarming the battlements. Spotting several of the Chargers nearby, he called to them. "Let's get up there!"

"Aye, ser." Krem grinned wildly. "Been waiting for our chance."

"Me, too."

They scaled the ladders, screaming as they charged into the fray. The volume of the battle drowned out the noise in Cullen's head and kept him from thinking about the bodies that had fallen from the crumbling tower.

At some point, he found cover for a moment's breather and that was when Eustace came up to him, bleeding from a minor wound just under the hairline. "I found—found out what happened—ser," Eustace panted. "She—seems like they're in the Fade."

"In the Fade?" Cullen repeated. "How are they in the Fade?"

"Someone who was close up—said he saw her mark thing flash, and there was a big hole in the sky, and everyone fell into it."

"Efficiently put." She wasn't dead, he thought. Again, somehow, she had survived the unsurvivable. Of course, she would have to come back out of the Fade, but surely she could manage that, too, just as easily as she did everything else. Suddenly he was irrationally angry with her. How dare she terrify them all that way and just calmly waltz into the Fade?

"Commander?" Eustace was looking at him strangely. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine!" he snapped. "Go have that wound looked at."

"Yes, ser."

Cullen went back into the battle, spreading the word as well as he could that the Inquisitor and her party seemed to still be alive. He could feel the ripple of rejuvenation that spread among the forces at the news. These men and women believed her to be holy, whatever she might think. Had Andraste known how special she was, for that matter?

When the battle was over and the breach was closed and they had, against all odds, taken Adamant Fortress, there was a sense of relief all over the field. Soldiers made fires and boiled tea and tore into jerked meats and hard biscuits and went to sleep wherever they happened to be, and for the moment Cullen let them. They had fought hard; they deserved a good long rest.

He didn't consider resting, though. There were the wounded to be looked to, pyre details to be organized for the dead, the trebuchets to be looked over to see if they could stand the trip back to Skyhold ... His mind revolved on the myriad details of packing the army up, and he didn't notice that the itch under his skin had increased in intensity or that the whispers in his ears were louder than they had been before. He drowned it all out with more work.

From somewhere in the battlefield, he heard the clear, familiar voice, coming closer, getting louder. "Have you seen the Commander? Does anyone know where he is? Was he wounded?" There was fear in her voice.

He stood up from behind the trebuchet he was inspecting. "Over here, Inquisitor."

Her head snapped up, her eyes finding him, and he could see them light up from where he stood. That should have made him happy; somewhere inside him he knew that. But the mark was still glowing faintly on her hand, reminding him that she had been in the Fade. Demons lived in the Fade; had she been touched by a demon? Would she turn? Did non-mages turn? His head was pounding.

"Cullen!" She was running toward him now, but slowing as she came closer, the happiness fading from her face and being replaced with puzzlement. "Are you all right?"

"Perfectly fine. Welcome back, Inquisitor."

Antonia reached up toward him, and he took a step back.

"Do I take it that you have emerged from the Fade unscathed?" he asked. He looked her over; there seemed to be no ill effects. Relief warred with annoyance inside him.

"I have, yes." There was a hint of sadness in her brown eyes. "And most of the others, as well. But the Grey Warden, Stroud, he stayed behind to cover our escape."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Antonia nodded. "I was, too."

They stood there awkwardly. Cullen wanted to hold her, to kiss her, but he also wanted to shake her, to shout at her, to tell her to stop complicating his mind with things he shouldn't want.

At last he said, "Is there anything you need at the moment? Because I have many things to do before we return to Skyhold."

Her jaw clenched. "No, thank you, Commander." She turned away, looking so small for someone so important, someone touched by the Hand of the Maker. Out of the darkness, he saw Varric and then Dorian appear, both of them walking with her, supporting her.

Cullen returned to his work. He was burning up, and the memories were louder in his ears than the sounds of the army.


	32. Because You Put Her There

_Poor Cullen! Puts a lot of pressure on himself, our Commander does. Thank you all for reading - you make my day!_

* * *

_27 Firstfall, 9:41_

The celebratory dinner after they had all returned to Skyhold from Adamant was in full swing. Antonia was happy to see everyone enjoying themselves—the ale and wine were flowing freely, the feast was everything a feast should have been.

But her smile felt forced, and she could only pick at her food. She felt guilty. The cooks had planned all the things they knew she liked the best, and she hated to have them think their efforts had gone to waste. If only she had an appetite.

If there was anyone enjoying the feast less than she was, it was Cullen. At least Antonia had a fake smile on her face; Cullen could barely look up from his food, which he was picking at rather than eating, except when one of his soldiers congratulated him. He looked more exhausted than she had ever seen him. So when a note was passed to her by one of the serving staff, written in the hasty but neat capitals she knew so well, she was a little surprised. "BATTLEMENTS. 10:00."

The time passed—slowly, but it passed, until it was close enough to 10:00 that she could excuse herself and slip away. She was sure Varric and Dorian were watching her as she left and had some idea of where she was going; they'd refrained from asking questions when Cullen had been so distant after they got out of Adamant, and had stuck close to her side all the way home. She was sure without their support that she would have created an embarrassing scene trying to get Cullen to talk to her, which wouldn't have been in anyone's best interests.

It was cool outside, refreshing after the heat in the main hall. Antonia moved across the courtyard. In her imagination, she'd been happy to go there, her heart light, knowing what waited for her. But now—whatever waited for her wasn't going to be good. That much was evident from Cullen's demeanor. Her legs moved slowly as she climbed the familiar steps to 'their' battlements.

"Cullen?"

"Inquisitor."

Antonia winced. She had thought they'd gotten past the name business, at least when they were alone. "What's on your mind?"

Cullen sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I … don't know how to say this."

"Maybe you shouldn't."

"You survived. Again. You went through the Fade. When they told me that, I was so relieved—I'd seen the tower fall, and I was sure you were— That I had—" His voice broke, and he had to stop and compose himself. "And then they said they thought you were in the Fade, with the others, and I couldn't believe it."

"Yes," Antonia said coolly, her fear at his distant behavior making her more sarcastic than possibly she should have been. "It was just like a vacation, only the weather wasn't beautiful and I didn't wish you were there. I was glad you were safe. Comparatively, at least."

"I wasn't. Glad, that is. I … I should have been there, protecting you."

Antonia closed her eyes, trying to hold on to her temper. "This again? Cullen, I don't need you to protect me."

"It's my job!"

"No. Coordinating our forces is your job, and the men worked superbly. They did everything that could have been asked of them and more, and they did it for you. You were exactly where you needed to be—among them."

He didn't respond to that, turning away from her. "My point was, that you survived another unsurvivable situation. How many of those does one person have to go through before it becomes clear that they are—touched by the hand of the Maker?"

Antonia was silent, almost frightened of the white-hot anger that surged through her, fighting to keep hold of it. He knew how she felt about that nonsense.

Cullen kept talking rapidly, more to himself than to her, pacing up and down, with the result that Antonia only caught a few words and phrases: " … and look at you, you're … unbelievably … any man in Thedas … unworthy … terrible distraction ... your work is the most important thing ..."

"Stop." Her voice was like an icicle.

He stopped, startled, and turned to look at her, his eyes wide and a little bit wild.

In the same freezing tone, Antonia continued, "Let me get this straight. You've decided that because of what happened at Adamant and in the Fade, you can now no longer believe I'm not somehow divine, and therefore you are not worthy of me?"

"I … don't want to be a distraction from your work."

She leaned back against the edge of the battlement, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Just when you think you've gotten through to someone … I thought you knew me better than that." Dropping her hands, she looked at him. "Perhaps we haven't been properly enough introduced. Let me rectify that. My name is Antonia Rosamund Trevelyan. I was born and raised on an estate outside Ostwick, in the Free Marches. One day, I went to a Chantry meeting in hopes that I could somehow be of use in ending the war between mages and Templars. Apparently, I opened a door I wasn't supposed to, stopped a thousand-year-old … something from performing a ritual, and ended up on the ground with a glowing mark on my hand that closes rifts in the sky, which won't go away, possibly ever." She clenched her fist to hide the Anchor, its hateful glow mocking her. "Are you with me so far?"

Cullen was still pacing restlessly, but he didn't interrupt, and she went on.

"I found myself the leader of a major force in the attempt to bring peace to Thedas—a cause I support, and so I was willing to act as the figurehead for that force, even though I knew—I still know-that inside the Inquisitor is the same Antonia that I was the day I came to the Conclave. Do you know who it was who gave me the courage to take my part in the Inquisition, who made sure I knew what was going on, who gave me someone to talk to when everyone else seemed so forbidding? I think you've met him once or twice before." She gave him a sidelong glance. "If there's an Inquisitor at the head of this Inquisition, it's because you put her there."

"I … it's not that simple."

"Well, yes, it is. But that's not all. Because you see, I know something I don't think anyone else in the leadership has figured out—and that's that without Antonia Rosamund Trevelyan inside her, the Inquisitor might as well be covered in stone and stood in the courtyard. What gives me the courage, and the patience, and the strength to go out there and fight the quillboars, and the phoenixes, and the bears, and the Red Templars, and the wolves, and the bandits, and the stupid sodding giants—is that the people I'm fighting for are just like me."

The party was breaking up down below; Antonia watched some of the revelers stagger across the courtyard to keep celebrating at the tavern.

"Those people down there," she gestured, "can call me the Herald of Andraste, and Inquisitor, because that's who they need me to be. But up here—with you—I need to be Antonia. I need to know that when someone, besides myself, looks at me, they see what I see. I thought that person was you, but maybe I was wrong."

"I'm sorry."

She turned on him. "You should be. Because, in addition to everything else, here we are fighting for the freedom of all of Thedas, and you seem to have forgotten the most basic freedom of all." The anger had faded, leaving her cold and trembling. "I have a right to my life, Cullen. Mine, not just the Inquisitor's. And if you can't see how important you are to that life, then maybe we weren't doing what I thought we were doing all along."

Leaving her words hanging in the air, she all but ran down the steps before she could feel guilty for being so harsh and go back to apologize.


	33. If Anyone Could

_Thanks to all of you for reading!  
_

* * *

_28 Firstfall, 9:41_

Despite her best intentions, Antonia went to Cullen's office the next day to apologize. She had meant what she'd said, but she'd said it harshly, and given him no opportunity to explain himself. He had obviously been agitated, and she should have given him a chance to calm down so they could discuss the situation like adults before she started shouting at him.

Besides which, being in an argument with Cullen tied her stomach in knots. He'd been her earliest and most constant support—not having that behind her felt cold and unsafe.

To her surprise, he wasn't in his office. Not that he never left, but he was usually there, and she had timed her visit for just before lunch—he often worked through, since it was one of the rare times when most people in Skyhold were too busy to come looking for him. Two soldiers were in there, with a stack of books they were hunting through. One of them she recognized as Eustace, who had interrupted the kiss on the battlements. From the look on his face, he remembered that, too.

"Your Worship!" he said, hastily scrambling to his feet, and smacking his fellow on the head to get him up, too. "Are you looking for the Commander?"

"I was."

"I'm afraid he isn't here."

Antonia raised her eyebrows and glanced toward the empty desk to indicate that she had noticed Cullen wasn't there.

"Right. He said he wasn't to be disturbed, but I suppose it's all right to tell _you_."

Whether she was singled out because she was the Inquisitor, or because the growing relationship between herself and Cullen was an open secret in Skyhold, or both, he didn't say.

"He's meeting with Seeker Pentaghast in the armory."

In the moment between hearing his words and gathering herself to thank him for the information, Antonia understood—Cullen's increasing agitation leading up to the assault on Adamant, his distance, his decision to break things off with her over a divinity he knew perfectly well she had no claim to. It was the damned lyrium.

She didn't know what she'd said to Eustace. Hurrying along the battlements and down the steps toward the armory, all she could think of was her fear that Cullen was losing the battle for his health and sanity.

In the Fade, she had been afraid that Cullen would be going out of his mind with worry—she hadn't understood how very real the possibility was. But they should have known: in combat for the first time since the catastrophic events at Haven, all the pressure he put himself under to make sure things went right, and all that on top of how hard he worked otherwise. It was no wonder if he was feeling the effects of the lyrium withdrawal more strongly than usual, and with less of his own strength in reserve to fight those effects. And she should have seen it, in the way he had distanced himself from her and from everyone and how quiet he had been in general all the way back from Adamant. Antonia could have kicked herself for not putting the pieces together, and for being so harsh to him last night. He had clearly been agitated—if she had stopped to think, she would have seen that he wasn't acting like himself.

At the door of the armory, now deserted while most people were at lunch, she could hear their voices, and she paused for a shameful moment to listen.

"You asked for my opinion, and I've given it. Why would you expect it to change?" Cassandra was saying, in her straightforward way.

"I expect you to keep your word," Cullen snapped. "It's relentless. I can't—" The pain in his voice made Antonia wince. She hated to think of him suffering like that.

Cassandra didn't yield. "You give yourself too little credit."

Antonia felt badly listening at the door. She had a right, as the Inquisitor if not as ... more than that, to know what was happening to him. She opened it—albeit quietly—and stepped through.

Cullen was saying, "If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this. Would you rather save face than—" He turned and saw Antonia standing there, and his face went white. Immediately, he pushed past her, leaving the building. She thought, but couldn't be sure, that he muttered "Forgive me" as he went by, but he didn't look at her.

Watching him go, Cassandra shook her head. "And people say _I'm _stubborn. This is ridiculous."

"I thought he was managing it."

"So did I. I think the battle at Adamant—he isn't used to fighting without the lyrium. And with the added strain of remembering what happened at Haven, and your little adventure in the Fade— I think he is feeling it more than usual."

"Of course. I should have realized." Antonia looked at the door where he had gone, wanting nothing more than to go to him and hold him until it passed. "Do you think he can't handle it?"

"He thinks so. Cullen has asked that I find a replacement for him. I refused. It's not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far." Cassandra's eyes were on the door he had gone through, her respect for his struggles evident.

Antonia nodded. Losing his position as Commander would kill him; he'd have nothing left to live for. "Why wouldn't he come to me?" she asked softly.

"As a Seeker, I can evaluate the dangers. You don't have that experience. And he wouldn't want to … risk your disappointment," Cassandra said, her face unusually kind as she turned toward Antonia.

"Is there anything we can do to change his mind?"

"If anyone could, it's you." Cassandra looked Antonia in the eye. "Make no mistake, what he is trying to do is very difficult. Mages have made their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has the chance to break that leash, to prove to himself—and anyone who would follow suit—that it's possible." She reached out and squeezed Antonia's shoulder. "He _can _do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time."

"And if it is?"

"Then we face it; we will have no other choice. But I do not think so."


	34. If I Cannot Endure

_This was originally two chapters, but they were both pretty short and went together nicely, so I collapsed them into one. Enjoy! Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_28 Firstfall, 9:41_

Cullen rushed from the armory, his irritation throbbing with the pulse in his head. Of all people, why did she have to show up just then? Who did she think she was, Andraste's Chosen? She said she wasn't, so why was she getting into this situation that was none of her concern?

He hurried past the people in the courtyard, heedless of who might have been there. The only thing he could think was that if he got to his office, he could take the lyrium and have some peace, finally, from the whispers in his head. He could be for the Inquisition what it needed from a commander, and make the pain go away.

Fortunately there was no one in the office when he arrived. Forgetting to close the door behind him, he reached up for the box. The familiar wood felt smooth and cool in his fingers, and he could almost hear the lyrium inside it, almost feel it in his veins soothing the itch and washing away the stabbing pain and quieting the whispers.

He put it on the desk, opening the box, his fingers tracing the edge of the vial. Just looking at it turned his stomach. He didn't want to be that man anymore, the Order's sycophant. But he couldn't stand it any longer—he couldn't shut out the memories or calm the fever in his blood or make the pain stop without it. The Inquisition deserved him in good shape, the best he could be, and didn't he have to admit that the lyrium would make him that again? If Cassandra wouldn't honor the agreement and replace him with someone whole, undamaged, wasn't this the only way?

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself away from the desk. He wanted it—but he didn't want it. Mostly he just wanted the torment to stop.

But he had said he wasn't going to take it. Hadn't he broken enough vows in his life? Could he break this one, the sacred one he had made to himself, and to the Inquisition? He remembered the day Cassandra had come to him, as he sat in the Knight-Commander's ruined office trying to decide what to do next. She had offered him a new opportunity, an entirely new life, one he could feel good about. An army he could build that would fight without centuries of ingrained hate and fear. He had wanted that then; he wanted it now. Had he overreached to think he could do it without the lyrium? It had been a sudden decision, a decision born of his disgust with Knight-Commander Meredith and with himself and with what the Order had created in Kirkwall, but it had felt right. It had felt like what he wanted—to be someone new, or perhaps to find again the person he had started out being.

Had he known it would be this difficult to endure, would he have had the courage to begin? Cullen turned and looked at the box again. Didn't he owe this to the Inquisition? Despite his vows, could he offer to the Inquisition less than he had offered to the Templars? It was as a Templar that they had chosen him for this task ... perhaps this struggle was contrary to the goals he professed to be working toward. He leaned over the desk again, staring at the box, imagining what it would be like to feel that spreading power through him again, thinking of everything he could accomplish with that power in him.

Power that had never gotten him anything but pain and torture, he reminded himself. Was even the Inquisition worth that again?

With a sudden shout of rage, he picked up the box and hurled it across the room, realizing only after it had left his hands that Antonia was standing in the open doorway. The sight of her ducking the flying splinters of wood brought him back to himself.

"Maker's breath!" What had he done?

* * *

Antonia stepped hastily out of the way of the flying box of lyrium.

"Maker's breath!" Cullen breathed, taking a step backward away from the desk. "I didn't hear you enter. I— Forgive me."

"Forgive you? I wish you'd thrown that thing across the room—or better yet, off the top of the battlements—a long time ago." She moved toward him, shutting the door behind her, deliberately stepping on the fragments of the lyrium vials that had been in the box. The crunch beneath her boots was extremely satisfying. "Cullen, if you need to talk—"

He shook his head. "You don't have to …" Then he caught his breath in pain and doubled over, catching himself on the desk. Antonia started toward him, but he waved her off, straightening up with evident effort. "I never meant for this to interfere."

"Are you all right?" He clearly wasn't; what she meant more was whether he was going to be all right. She didn't know if he had spasms like this often and she'd just never seen it, or if this was particularly worse.

"Yes …" He couldn't meet her eyes, though, and after a moment he sighed. "I don't know."

"Cullen, talk to me."

They looked at one another in silence for a few moments. Then Cullen nodded. "All right." When he began speaking, the words poured out of him as if a dam had broken. "You asked once what happened to Ferelden's Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The Templars—_my friends_—were slaughtered." He moved to the window, bracing himself against the window frame. "I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I— How can you be the same person after that?"

Antonia felt utterly inadequate. She had thought she knew his story, and what he had been through, and overcome, was impressive enough, but she'd had no idea it was this bad. What could she possibly say to someone who had endured what he had and come out of it with his sanity intact?

Cullen went on, almost to himself. "Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness. Kirkwall's circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets." He turned to look at her, fully at her, for the first time in what felt like ages. "Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life?"

"Of course I can! I—"

"Don't!" He put a hand up, keeping distance between them. "You should be questioning what I've done." Rubbing the back of his neck, he paced up and down behind the desk, increasingly agitated. "I thought this would be better, that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me …" He clenched his fists, staring down at them. "I swore myself to this cause. I will _not _give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry. I should be taking it!" With a growl of rage, he punched the bookcase. Antonia winced at the savagery. More calmly, but still painfully, he said again, "I should be taking it." He sagged against the wall, staring down at the floor, his hands still curled tightly into fists.

She felt instinctively that this was the moment; if she couldn't get through to him now, she could lose him entirely—not just for herself, but for the Inquisition as a whole. And, worst, he could lose himself, and that would be such a dreadful waste after how far he had already come.

Antonia moved to stand in front of him, ducking her head to meet his eyes. "Cullen, forget the Inquisition. Is this what _you_ want?"

He stared at her, wanting to argue—it was evident on his face—but she held his gaze firmly, waiting, and at last he sighed, some of the tension leaving his body. "No. But ... these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I cannot endure this ..."

Her heart ached for him, for everything he had tried to do on his own. She wanted to hold him, to help him, to soothe away any of the pain that she could. Was this ... love, then? Did she love him? Antonia pushed the question aside to consider later. For now, she would give him as much as he allowed her to.

She put her hand on his chest, the metal of his breastplate warm to the touch. "You can."

Their eyes held each other, Cullen's searching hers for assurances, for her understanding. At last he nodded. "All right."

"Good." Antonia looked up at him, at the sweat beading on his forehead, the glaze in his eyes, the heaving of his chest with the effort of breathing normally. "Now, you're coming with me to see the surgeon about that fever. You've had it since before we left for Adamant, haven't you?"

"It's perfectly fine. Really."

"It's not fine—either you're sick beyond the lyrium withdrawal, which is hampering your ability to fight it off, or at least the surgeon can help give you something to take for the fever when it comes on so this goes better next time."

"Inquisitor, I—"

"Commander," she said firmly, "this goes one of three ways. You can come with me because you're a sensible person; you can come with me because it's an order from the head of the Inquisition; or you can come with me because I knock you out and drag you down the stairs by your heels and hopefully knock some sense into your head in the process. Which is it?"

At another time, he probably would have teased her about her ability to accomplish the third option, but this wasn't that moment—and she was absolutely serious, besides. "I suppose ... one of the first two."

"Good. Let's go."


	35. Who You Are Now

_This is one of my favorite scenes - I hope I did it justice. Thank you all for reading!_

* * *

7_ Haring, 9:41_

It had been a long week. Antonia and her boys had gone out to Emprise-du-Lion again to tackle some more Red Templars. No trouble with giant bears this time, but lots of frustrations and treks across the snowy wilderness that turned out to be fruitless, so they were all tired and cranky coming back. The edge beneath the constant sniping between Dorian and the Iron Bull was so sharp she was sure they were going to slice off something important, and even Varric had little patience left.

Adding to Antonia's strain was that she had left Cullen still feverish and clearly not quite well, even if under the hands of the surgeon, so there had been no chance to put things right between them. A couple of dispatches had come from him while they'd been out, but nothing to give her any idea what his state of mind might be.

They came back in around midday, with enough time for a bath and a change of clothes before dinner. Antonia asked Roya about Cullen while her maid was clucking over the state of the Inquisitor's armor, but Roya hadn't seen much of him, and couldn't say.

Antonia took special care getting dressed that night, and spent a much longer time than usual in front of the mirror trying to arrange her short hair, dissatisfied. She wasn't particularly concerned about her looks most of the time—she knew she was attractive enough to satisfy those who came looking for her and expected that, and otherwise, didn't worry overly much. But she wanted Cullen to see her as something other than the Inquisitor, if only for tonight.

Roya, arms full of laundry, stopped at the top of the stairs. "Be you, my lady. If that's not good enough, he's not worth it."

Antonia smiled at the dwarf, but she still fiddled with the too-long bangs—time to cut those again—a few minutes longer before she needed to be in Josephine's private dining room for dinner.

There were a number of guests in the keep tonight, the most important of whom were seated on either side of the Inquisitor at the head of the table. Josephine kept the order of precedence in her head, and her seating arrangements at formal meals were sacrosanct. The end result tonight was that Cullen was seated about halfway down the table, with no chance to speak to him at all before dinner began. Antonia's eyes wandered in his direction as often as she dared without being obvious, or rude to the Rivaini on her left or the Nevarran on her right.

Finally, as the main course was being removed and the dessert plates were being laid out, Antonia was able to catch Cullen's eyes. He'd been chatting fairly easily with his own dinner companions, a retired Orlesian general and his wife and extremely attractive daughter. Not that Antonia had noticed, naturally, even though she couldn't help but be aware that said daughter had contrived to put her hand on Cullen's arm a large number of times for a single meal.

Cullen returned Antonia's gaze directly, but she couldn't read anything in his face. He tipped his head in the direction of their battlements, raising his eyebrows in question. Antonia nodded, and he smiled briefly before turning back to the general's daughter.

The sky was turning gold, the sun beginning to set, when Antonia was finally able to get free and hurry up the steps, taking them two at a time. She closed the door of the abandoned guard house behind her, leaning against it for a moment. Cullen was there before her, his hands braced on the wall and his face turned up to the breeze and the setting sun. He had his eyes closed, clearly enjoying the moment, and looked so much better than the last time she'd seen him.

He turned in her direction as she came toward him. "Welcome home. How was your trip?"

"Long. Pointless. Not finished. I'd rather not talk about it." She stopped, wanting to reach out and touch him but not sure where they stood. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Cullen nodded. "I wanted to thank you ... when you came to see me ..." His hands spread out in the air, searching for words. "If there's anything ..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, this sounded so much better in my head."

She smiled. It was good to hear him sounding like himself again. "I trust you're feeling better?"

"I ... Yes. The surgeon finds me a 'fascinating case', and wants to experiment with some powders she has for recurring fevers."

"Is it always that bad?"

Cullen shrugged. "The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I'm back there ... I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

"Or a number of the days preceding it," Antonia agreed. "Next time, say something. Take a break. I promise, Skyhold won't fall apart if you take an hour for yourself every now and then."

The corner of his mouth turned up a little. "I'll keep that in mind."

"It sounds like it was high time we got you to the surgeon."

"Yes, that seems likely to help next time ... but what you did helped more."

"What I did?"

He nodded, turning back to look out over the mountains surrounding Skyhold. "I never told anyone what truly happened to me in Ferelden. I was ... not myself after that. I was angry, and I let that anger blind me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. Saying it out loud, sharing that with someone— Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start."

"You can talk to me anytime. I hope you know that." Cautiously, she moved closer to him. "For what it's worth, I like who you are now."

He turned to look at her, studying her face as if he wasn't sure how she meant it. "Even after—?"

"Cullen, I care about you. You've done nothing to change that." Without thinking, she lifted her hand to squeeze his arm. She wanted to tell him that everything he had revealed about himself had made her feel more—more respect and admiration, more sorrow and tenderness—but she was suddenly shy, remembering how inadequate she had felt at the time. The gap in their ages and experiences yawned suddenly as deep and wide as the leap from the edge of Skyhold.

"What about you?" Cullen asked tenderly. "You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?"

The last thing he needed was her burdens on top of his. "I've met good people here," she said stoutly. It was the truth, after all. "Knowing they have my back—it helps."

He chuckled. "You certainly keep interesting company. I suppose I do, as well," he added, as if he'd just realized it.

They were silent for a moment. Then Antonia thought that the whole reason they were in this awkward strange situation at all was because Cullen had thought he could bear his own burdens alone and hadn't told anyone how bad his condition had gotten. Perhaps it was up to her to be more forthcoming. "Honestly?" she said. Cullen turned his head in her direction, but Antonia kept her eyes on the mountains. "I'm terrified. So much is depending on us—on me. Corypheus is still out there. What if we can't defeat him?"

"We've made great strides," Cullen said. "Don't sell yourself—or the Inquisition—short just yet." He crossed his arm over his chest with a small bow. "If there's anything I can do, you have only to ask."

"Cullen? There is something."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting, but she couldn't make the words come out. She needed to know they were all right, needed to know— She reached out a hand toward him.

There was a tremendous relief in his face that she saw only for a moment, because then she was in his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder.

Cullen rested his cheek against the top of her head. "I missed you."

"Me, too. Please don't do that to me again—I was so concerned for you, and there was nothing I could do. I hate feeling helpless."

He chuckled. "Look who's talking. It would be a weight off my shoulders if you would stop falling in and out of the Fade."

"I'll keep that in mind." Antonia raised her face to his. "Cullen?"

And then he was kissing her, and everything was right in her corner of Thedas—at least for now.


	36. Concentration

_Thank you all for reading! Have a lovely weekend!  
_

* * *

_12 Haring, 9:41_

"How many of these games have we played now?" Antonia asked him, deftly putting the chess pieces in place.

"Oh, a dozen or so." Cullen hadn't been counting. Since he had yet to win a single game against her, he played more to spend time with her than out of any hope of winning. Although he had spent a fair amount of time playing against Dorian, who was almost as good as she was, and looking through all the books on chess in the library, he hadn't managed to find a way to beat her yet.

"Isn't it about time we made it more interesting?"

"Interesting how?" Cullen asked warily.

"Perhaps we should add stakes."

"Stakes? What's my incentive for that, when you always win?"

Antonia paused in the act of making her first move, frowning thoughtfully. "You could win."

"Not since you were twelve, you said."

"There's a first time for everything."

"And you think I should gamble on that?"

She shrugged, putting the piece down. It was a variation on her standard opener; Cullen had a few options to put the game on the right track for now. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Antonia said.

He decided on a strategy, and moved a piece. It occurred to him that if she was bringing this up, she must have stakes in mind, and he could feel his pulse leap, wondering what those stakes might be. There were certainly a few things she could ask for that would make him not mind losing at all. Then he thought of a plan he'd had in mind for a few days, since she suggested to him on the battlements that Skyhold wouldn't fall apart if he took some time for himself. "All right," he said. "You're on. On the off chance that I win, I know what I'm asking for."

"Oh, that sounds mysterious. What is it?"

"You find out if I win."

"And if I win? What do I get?"

"What do you want?" Their eyes met over the board, and Cullen felt a jolt of desire that nearly made him groan out loud. Maker, he knew what he wanted. For now, he held himself back because the demons in his dreams persisted in wearing her face and speaking in her voice, and he wanted to be sure he had enough control over himself to keep those images from haunting him at the wrong times. How close he had come to letting the lyrium win still scared him. If Antonia hadn't been there— Cullen had to admit it frightened him a little how important she had become in his life.

Antonia cleared her throat. "If I win, I get to ask a question, any question, and get an answer."

"What question?" He couldn't imagine what question she could ask that he wouldn't answer. He'd told her about Ferelden's Circle—there were no skeletons worse than that in his closet. "You know, actually, it doesn't matter. I agree to your terms. Now, hush."

"Hush?"

"Yes. I want to win, which means concentration." He frowned at the board, ignoring Antonia's chuckle.

It was the most silent game of chess he had played in a long time—it reminded him, truth be told, of that long-ago game against Mia, when he had been so determined to win and wipe that smug look off her face. They gathered a crowd of onlookers who commented on the game in whispers, including Dorian, who seemed to find it quite amusing.

There came a point where Cullen began to think he had a shot. Antonia was on the run, pulling her pieces back into a defensive position, which she rarely did. Usually she played a very aggressive game, snatching her pieces out of the jaws of destruction at the last minute, and doing so maddeningly often. But today his strategy was pressing her on all sides and she was falling back to regroup her pieces.

She never got the momentum back. Cullen could feel a grin spreading across his face uncontrollably as they got closer to the end and it became more and more evident that she had lost. For her part, Antonia seemed shocked, which wasn't helping her get out of the corner he had backed her into.

At last, he made the last move. "And that, I believe, is checkmate," he said with great satisfaction. To his surprise, there was applause all around them—he had forgotten about their audience. In a rare moment of theatricality, he stood up and took a bow.

For her part, Antonia looked stricken. "I think you cheated."

Dorian, lounging against a column, laughed at her. "My dear, you were outplayed. The Commander has improved his game to some purpose, it would seem. But pretend to yourself he cheated if it makes you feel better. I lay odds that he'll beat you again the next time."

"Did anyone ask you?" she said to the mage, but she was smiling. She stood up and crossed her arm over her chest, bowing to Cullen. "Well played, Commander."

"Why, thank you, Inquisitor." He really couldn't help crowing, just a little. "It truly pains me to have broken your winning streak."

"It does not."

Leaving Dorian to set up the board for a match against Flissa, Skyhold's seneschal, Cullen and Antonia walked across the garden. "Well, that settles that," she said. "That's the last time we play for stakes."

"You're only saying that because you lost."

"I'm saying that because you're no fun when you really want to win." She looked up at him almost shyly, her cheeks pink. "I don't enjoy playing chess half as much as I enjoy spending time with you."

"Really?" He smiled at that idea. "Then you might like having lost. What was your question, anyway?"

"I don't know. I had a few."

Cullen stopped walking, turning to look at her. "Antonia, if there's ever anything you want to know, you don't have to win a chess game. I think I've told you everything I ... usually don't talk about. If you can hear all of that and by some miracle still be standing here with me, I can't imagine what else there is that I wouldn't tell you."

There was a suspicious shine in her eyes. "I'll keep that in mind," she whispered.

"Good."

With a deliberate change of tone, she said, "So, what did I lose?"

"Ah." He smiled. He'd been thinking of this for several days, and had only worked out how to manage it this morning. He hadn't figured out how to ask her until she'd come up with the idea of playing for stakes. "Inquisitor, clear your calendar. I have some ... dealings in Ferelden, and you're coming with me."

"Dealings?" she echoed. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she said, gratifyingly quickly.

"Good. Then I would rather explain there. Now go pack. And Antonia?" he called after her, as she started moving away with a final confused glance. "No need for armor."

She looked even more confused, but waved her hand in assent, leaving Cullen to return to work and try, futilely, to concentrate.


	37. Awakened

_So I got to this point and realized the game wants us to think they tripped off to Ferelden and back in an afternoon. Seems unlikely to me, so I expanded the journey to a few days (and chapters!). Thanks very much to all of you for reading!  
_

* * *

_14 Haring, 9:41_

Antonia stretched out on her bedroll, still thoroughly confused. It had been a lovely, if chilly, day, riding along at a nice leisurely pace, chatting with Cullen, stopping for lunch and dinner at the checkpoints set up in the mountain approaches to Skyhold. The soldiers manning those checkpoints had been understandably surprised to see the Inquisitor and the Commander of the Inquisition show up unannounced, but when they understood that it was not an inspection, they'd been thrilled to show off all the improvements they'd made and to just have a chance to sit and talk to two of the Inquisition's leaders.

Maybe that was what this trip was about, Antonia thought, but if so, why would he have needed to win a chess game for that? He could have just asked her.

They were on the edge of the mountains, and Cullen had promised they would arrive at their destination the next day, so it was clearly somewhere in western Ferelden. In the meantime, he had packed two separate tents, so they had made a hasty camp and now Antonia was lying here not sleeping in her tent, and from the lantern glow coming from Cullen's, he was not sleeping in his. Which seemed like a waste to her. Even if he still held back from full intimacy, just lying there close to him had to be better than lying here awake without him.

She closed her eyes, drawing her blanket closer around her, and imagined crawling into his tent and joining him under his blankets. But as always on the first night of an expedition, she was exhausted, and so she fell asleep imagining laying her head on his shoulder.

Some time later she woke up with a start, the fog of sleep slowly clearing as she recognized Cullen's voice.

"No! No, you lie. Leave me alone! No!"

Antonia thought about getting out of her blankets to go to him, but she felt shy about it. If he had meant her to do that, surely he would have said something earlier, she thought. The sounds stopped before she could think about it any further, and she drifted off to sleep again, only to be awakened again ... and again ... and again by Cullen muttering and thrashing and crying out in his sleep.

Eventually she gave up entirely, sitting outside in her blankets and watching the sun come up. Was this what he went through every night? No wonder he slept so notoriously badly. Everyone in Skyhold knew that he worked through the night on a regular basis. The wonder of it all was that he ever got anything done—he must be exhausted all the time. Antonia stifled a yawn. She was tired herself, after that long night, and it had only been one night.

Cullen came out of his tent shortly after sunrise, seeming startled to see her sitting there, and a bit discomfited, which was not surprising. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were awake."

"I couldn't help it." She felt badly bringing it up, but then, he had to know she would hear when he planned this trip. "Is it like that every night?"

"That was a little worse than usual." He disappeared into the trees in the direction of the stream. He came back a few minutes later, his hair glistening and his face looking freshly scrubbed.

"Cullen, was it worse than usual last night because of me?" Antonia asked.

True to his word, while he looked like he didn't want to answer, he took a deep breath and faced the question head-on. "Possibly. Or it could be sleeping in an unfamiliar location. Or it could be Tuesday." He shrugged. "It's hard to predict."

"Is it getting better over time?"

"It got a lot worse when I stopped taking the lyrium. It's hard to say if it's gotten any better since then—there's always something on my mind since I joined the Inquisition, and the dreams capitalize on whatever that is. Shall we pack up?" he asked, signaling the end of the conversation.

Antonia followed his lead, and his mood improved as they got back on their horses and rode down the mountain path into Ferelden proper.

He turned off the main road onto a smaller one, and then after a little time, onto an even smaller road, more like a grassy path.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" she asked him.

"You said you trusted me."

"I did. I do."

"Then don't worry." He was smiling, happier than she thought she'd ever seen him, and Antonia couldn't help smiling, too. If it made him look like that, she'd probably follow him into the depths of Seheron.

"Lead on, Commander."


	38. Humor Me

_Happy Friday, and thank you for reading! You all always send me into the weekend with a smile on my face.  
_

* * *

_14 Haring, 9:41_

Finally Cullen and Antonia came to a small lake. It was a beautiful spot, peaceful and quiet, the birds and the lapping of the water the only sounds they could hear. They had passed through several areas still marked by the Blight, but this place had escaped unscathed, it seemed.

They unsaddled and picketed the horses, setting up the tents again.

Then Cullen reached for her hand. "Walk with me?"

"Of course."

They strolled along the edge of the lake to a short pier. Fishing equipment was piled on it, but there was no evidence a fisherman had been there recently. Cullen looked around, a smile on his face, breathing in the air.

"You've been here before."

"Yes. I grew up not far from here; this place was always quiet." Looking out over the water, he said, "I loved my siblings, but they could be very loud, and even as a child I needed ... time, space. I would come here to clear my head. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed being a Templar, at first. The Order prized contemplation—the vigils were boring, yes, but if you did them right, they could be ... illuminating."

"Do you miss that part of it?" Antonia asked.

"Yes. But there's so much more I don't miss. And so much that I have now that I never imagined I could ask for." He looked at her with unmistakable meaning, reaching for her hand again. "You have been the greatest surprise, constantly, the most amazing gift, and I wanted just once to give you something in return, to take you away from the danger you walk into every day, if only briefly."

She smiled, having guessed as much. "Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition, the Great Bear, taking a _vacation_? Will wonders never cease?" She gave him a mock frown. "How will you ever survive without a constant stream of messengers and status reports?"

"I should be able to last the day. Or a couple of days." Cullen chuckled. "In the meantime, it's nice to be able to do this without any chance of being interrupted." He bent his head, kissing her. "And it's possible I may have told Leliana where to find me, just in case."

"Of course you did." Antonia leaned her head against his shoulder. "Thank you. This is incredibly thoughtful of you."

"Well, don't go thinking of me as too altruistic. Having a couple of days where I don't have to be afraid of what might happen to you is a nice change of pace for me, too."

"Oh, no, you don't."

"What?"

"No work talk." The last thing she wanted right now was to think about everything that still lay ahead of them.

"Fair enough."

"Good. Now, tell me about your siblings. You said you came here to get away from them?"

"Yes, but they usually found me." Cullen laughed. "Most often, that meant Mia and Jared, the older two, would gang up on me and I would end up tumbled into the lake. Which was nice in summer, but not so much in winter."

"How much older were they?"

"Mia three years, Jared two. Then Ariel, the youngest, another three years behind me. We all thought she was a dreadful tagalong."

"I'm sure. And you were happy here?"

"I was. I still am."

That much was evident; since they'd been here, the tension in him had eased significantly. He took her hand again, leading her back off the little pier and further around the lake. They didn't talk; Antonia was just happy to be here with him, without the constant stream of details always surrounding them at Skyhold, and Cullen appeared to be lost in thought. They stopped again to look out over the water. After a moment, Cullen reached his hand in his pocket, bringing out a coin. He looked at it, turning it over in his fingers, and Antonia thought he might be about to throw it in the water, the way people did fountains.

Instead, he said, "The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training. My brother gave me this. He happened to have it in his pocket, but he said it was for luck." Cullen smiled at the memory, looking at the coin. "Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through. But this ... this is the only thing I took with me to Kirkwall that was mine."

"I'm not sure it worked," Antonia said, thinking of everything he'd been through. "You haven't been very fortunate."

"That depends on your definition, I suppose. I should have died during the Blight. Or in Kirkwall, or in Haven. Take your pick. And yet, I made it back here." He looked at the coin again, then lifted her hand in his and placed the coin in her palm, folding her fingers over it. "Humor me. We don't know what you'll face before the end. This can't hurt."

Antonia swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat, curling her fingers more tightly to hold the coin, still warm from his hand. "It will be like carrying a piece of you with me, wherever I go."

Gently, he took her face in his hands, tilting her head up for his kiss. "You already do."

Hours later, after Antonia had played assistant chef while Cullen cooked them a stewed rabbit—not quite up to Iron Bull's, truth be told, but significantly better than most of what she ate while traveling—they sat by the lakeshore, looking up at the stars. Antonia leaned back against Cullen's chest, feeling very safe and very warm. He gave off heat like a furnace, even on the coldest days. It was much like being on the battlements, except with the music of the water rippling against the shore replacing the music of the wind in the mountains.

He was telling her about the way sailors used the stars to navigate in the middle of the ocean. Antonia was impressed, as she so often was, by the breadth of his knowledge—as far as she knew, there was no particular reason for him to know that much about sailing a ship, except that at some point he'd been curious and read up on it, she imagined. With a contented sigh, she put a hand on his upraised knee, her fingertips absently stroking the kneecap.

Cullen drew in a breath at her touch, his words faltering as her fingers began to explore further. "So they ... um ... can find their way ... in the ... ah ... Antonia."

"What?" She turned her head to look at him, and he kissed her with a suddenness and a hunger that had her trembling in his arms. She curved her hand around the back of his head to hold him to her, his curls wrapping themselves around her fingers.

As the kiss went on, bit by bit they shifted until she was lying on her back, heedless of the sand in her hair, Cullen hovering above her. Slowly he lowered himself until his weight was fully, deliciously on her, and Antonia parted her legs so she could feel him there. They both moaned at the contact of heat against heat, so good even through the layers of their clothing. The wind carried the sound away—and carried back another moan, the lost wail of a wolf howling at the moon.

Antonia was startled, but Cullen was far more than that. The unexpected sound had clearly awakened in him some memory or fear, and he was gone from on top of her within seconds. Antonia could see him shaking from where she lay, and she hastily got to her feet as well.

"Cullen?"

He took a breath, nodding, clearly fighting for control. "I'm all right. Really." Taking another long breath and letting it out slowly, he managed a smile. "So much for no interruptions."

Antonia smiled, too. "I think I preferred Eustace. At least we were able to tell him to go away."

"I'll ... You should get some sleep. I'll take the first watch." He looked around him wistfully. "There never used to be wolves here before. I suppose everything changes eventually."

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_A/N: I understand that the new World of Thedas contains information on Cullen's family that contradicts some of what I've done in this story (I'm sure you can find out more via the search engine of your choice if you're curious). I'm fairly invested in the version of Cullen's family I've already written for this story, so I hope it won't bother anyone that it doesn't match the book's version.  
_


	39. Another Day

_Thank you to everyone for reading!_

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_15 Haring, 9:41_

Cullen looped his arms over his drawn-up knees, watching the sun come up over the treetops. In some ways, he felt thirteen again, and half-expected Jared to come out of the tent behind him and knock him over with an affectionate cuff to the back of his head.

Instead, when the tent flap opened, the person who emerged looked nothing like Jared at all. Cullen looked at her over his shoulder, feeling a bit shy this morning. The previous night's interrupted embrace hadn't been in his plans at all—when preparing for this journey, he had thought more about showing her this place, taking her away from Skyhold and all the weight of the world that lay constantly on her shoulders, of simply spending with her the kind of time they otherwise had no opportunity for.

Despite his increasing desire for her, and the temptations associated with traveling alone, and spending so much time together, Cullen hadn't intended to push the physical portion of their relationship on this trip. Partly because the more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted. It was harder and harder to imagine a future in which she wasn't there, laughing with him and kissing him and looking at him with that exquisite softness in her brown eyes. He was no longer certain he could be satisfied with less than a lifetime. But he didn't know if that was what she wanted ... and there was still the impossible to forget potential that it wouldn't be an option. Corypheus still waited out there, for her, a circumstance Cullen tried not to think about.

And so he tried to keep control of his desires. Cullen was no virgin, but none of his previous encounters had involved more than the physical. Some part of him knew that if he were to make love to Antonia, it would be the end of any chance he had to protect himself against the possibility that she didn't feel for him what he felt for her, or the fact that neither of their feelings mattered in the face of the dangers that awaited her.

But that wasn't the only reason for his hesitation. The wolf's howl last night, so like the shriek of a despair demon, had catapulted him instantly from this peaceful shoreline to the stone-walled environs of the Circle tower. With his guard down the way it had been, his focus entirely on her, he had not been able to steel himself against the panic.

Reluctantly, he had to confess to himself that, despite the nearly bone-deep ache of his desire for her, he wasn't ready. Now at some point he'd have to work up the nerve to confess that to her, which would be harder still. And would be complicated by how much her nearness threatened his control; while he had a lifetime's worth of practice in keeping control of himself, her effect on him, physically and emotionally, was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

As she came toward him, he waited, his breath held, for her to remark on what had happened last night. Instead, she sat down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Good morning."

"Good morning." He moved his arm around her shoulders so that she was tucked against his side.

"Someone didn't wake me for a turn on watch last night. A bad habit you share with the Iron Bull. And Blackwall."

"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to disturb you." He didn't tell her that he had spent a long time just watching her sleep, her face so beautiful in repose.

"Hm." There was disapproval and resignation in the sound, but she didn't bother to argue. "What's on the agenda today?"

"Well ... we could head back, if you wanted; we'd be back in Skyhold tomorrow afternoon."

"Do we have to?"

"No, not if you don't want to. We can stay another day." He was surprised; after last night, he'd thought she'd be disappointed and ready to return. "Do you want to?"

"If you told me I had another week with you all to myself, that wouldn't be long enough." Antonia looked down, sighing. "I suppose you think that sounds terribly selfish and un-Inquisitor-like of me."

She seemed to actually feel uncomfortable about it. "Remember, I'm the one who ran away with the Inquisitor in the first place. The fact that you're enjoying this is—" It was astonishing, was what it was, astonishing and wonderful, warming Cullen clear through. "I'm very glad. And I feel the same way." He tightened his arm around her shoulders, nuzzling her hair.

They sat that way for a few moments as the sun climbed higher, sparkling on the water.

"Can I ask you something?" Antonia said.

"Of course."

"Last night, you went to the Circle tower, didn't you?"

"I— Yes."

"Is it always there?"

"Mostly. Sometimes Kirkwall, or Haven. But both of those were more ... straightforward. The tower—it's harder to get past."

"Do you still regret the man you became after that?" She had turned her head to look at him, her brown eyes clear and direct.

Cullen nodded. "For a long time, I thought all mages were like the ones in Ferelden, ready to—change at any moment. Knight-Commander Meredith's methods were harsh, but they kept people safe. I was more ... complicit in the way things evolved there than I usually like to admit, even to myself. Because I should have known, I should have said something—the mages were my charges, after all, under my protection. But I didn't; I kept quiet about all the things that concerned me. Of course, she knew about my anger; what had happened to me was in my official file, after all. She encouraged me, and the blood mages in Kirkwall didn't help." He sighed. "She was my knight-commander—I never thought to question her until it was too late. But she also kept things from me, decisions I would have questioned. She knew there were lengths I would never have gone to."

"You stood up to her in the end."

"Yes, but only when it was clear how far she had descended into madness. If she hadn't been corrupted by the red lyrium and gone so far out of bounds, would I be like her now? I wanted mages punished for what I had seen them do, and—" He stopped himself. "The Inquisition is my chance to atone for what I let happen. I will see it through." Letting her go, he stood up abruptly. "We never did decide what we're going to do today."

Antonia stood up, too, brushing sand off her pants. "I wouldn't say no to breakfast. And ... maybe afterward, you could show me where you grew up?"

"Are you sure you want to see that?" He frowned. "Come to think of it, I'm not even certain it's still there. The Blight hit the area around here fairly hard."

"I'd like to see it anyway, if you don't mind showing me."

"All right."

His mood improved as they made breakfast together. Then, leaving the camp set up, they saddled the horses and rode across the fields to the house he grew up in. They raced a couple of times, which Antonia won handily. It was no surprise, particularly—she was far lighter than he, and she clearly enjoyed riding. Cullen didn't mind riding, but all things considered he never felt as comfortable on a horse as he did on foot.

As Cullen had expected, the house was in terrible disrepair, the fields still blackened and blighted. He sighed wistfully, looking around at it.

"This is a nice farmhold," Antonia said. "Who owns it now?"

"I think my parents still do, but I'm not sure. They're living near Mia and her husband John in South Reach. He's a carpenter, and a good one, so I understand." He frowned. "It would take a lot of work to make this farmable again."

"Did you do a lot of work around here growing up?"

"Oh, yes. Plowing, weeding, harvesting, threshing—you name it, I did it." He looked at his hands, grimacing. "I hated it. It was such a relief to join the Templars and be able to keep my hands clean. Literally, if not figuratively."

"I can see that."

"Meanwhile, there you are sleeping in tents and hacking your way through wolves and giant bears. That can't be the way you grew up."

"No. Not in the least." She smiled. "I like having the chance to get my hands dirty for a change. Other than my training with the sword, I did so little of any value for such a long time."

"You've certainly made up for that with a vengeance."

Antonia laughed. "Thank you."

Cullen looked at the house, which seemed so much smaller than he remembered. He frowned. "Sometimes I forget that there's such a difference in our backgrounds."

She glanced up at him, suddenly serious. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong."

"Really. What am I thinking?"

"You're thinking that somehow because I grew up in a mansion with 25 rooms all to myself, more or less, and you grew up sharing a bedroom with your brother, I must think I had a happier childhood, or a more privileged one than you did. But you had your family all around you, and it seems clear you all cared very much for one another, and mine ... I was a bit of an afterthought, I'm afraid. Not that I'm complaining," she said hastily. "Everyone was always kind, and I learned a lot. But I was very lonely."

"I was never that. I could have used a bit more time alone, all things considered."

"Have you heard from your family recently? How are they faring in all this chaos?"

"I got a letter from Mia a month or so ago." He smiled, thinking of the way she had berated him for not getting in touch after Haven. "She was always good at tracking me down."

"Tracking you down?" Antonia echoed. "Didn't she know where you were?"

"She'd known I was in Haven. She assumed I survived the attack."

Antonia raised her eyebrows, and Cullen flushed.

"It's not the first time," he admitted. "I may have neglected to tell her when I was transferred to Kirkwall."

"Why?"

"Because I was so angry, and I was ... I didn't want her to know how I had changed, or to have to tell her what happened to me, and if I had said anything, she would have demanded explanations. So I went away and didn't tell her. Two years later, I got an angry letter berating me for my disappearance." He nodded, seeing Mia's dark, slashing black writing in his mind's eye. "For all her richly deserved anger at me, it was a relief to hear from someone who had known me before the Blight. It helped."

"I'm sure it did." Antonia gave him an odd, speculative look.

"What?"

"Nothing." She came to him, putting her arms around his neck. "Thank you for bringing me here." She smiled. "Someday, if you're very unfortunate, I may drag you off to Ostwick and show you where I grew up."

"Unfortunate?"

She winked at him. "It's a 25-room mansion, and I play a mean game of hide and seek."


	40. Closer to the Fire

_Thanks so much to all of you for reading, favoriting, following, and commenting on this story! This chapter was a fun one to write, and yes, parts of it may be considered NSFW. Enjoy!  
_

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_16 Haring, 9:41_

They packed up reluctantly the next morning, with long, lingering kisses breaking up the work that neither of them really wanted to do.

Just before leaving, Cullen walked down to the shoreline one last time. Antonia came with him, her hand firmly clasped in his. "It's beautiful here," she said.

"Mm."

"Can we— Will you bring me here again, sometime?"

He put his arm around her. "If you want me to. If we can get away."

"Always the question." Antonia could practically see the cares of the Inquisition settling on his shoulders again. "I suppose we should go."

"Yes."

But it still took a few moments before they were ready to actually go back to the horses and turn their steps toward Skyhold.

By late afternoon, the sky above them had darkened and was heavy with clouds. At the first roll of thunder, Cullen reined his horse in next to Antonia's. "Which is it? Keep going, or camp?"

"Neither one sounds all that good—it'll be a cold, wet camp, if those clouds are any indicator." She looked around. "I don't suppose you know anyone living near here who might be able to provide us some shelter?"

"No." Cullen shook his head regretfully. "Although ..." He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps there is something. Follow me."

He turned off the road, and Antonia followed him, keeping a wary eye on the thickening clouds above her head. The first raindrops began spattering down on them after another few minutes, and within ten minutes they were in the midst of a downpour, soaked to the skin, despite the heavy weather-resistant canvas jackets they were both wearing.

Antonia hoped Cullen still knew where he was going; she could barely see him ahead of her, and there was no chance she could make herself heard above the sound of the rain.

At last they came to a cabin tucked in a small grove of pines, with an overhanging roof in the back suitable for the horses. Cullen handed her the pack with the food in it, leaning over to shout in her ear, "I'll take care of the horses; you can get a fire started. It should be stocked with dry wood."

Antonia wanted to ask how he'd known it was here, but it could wait until they were both inside and dry.

The cabin was snug and warm, neatly made up ready for use. She couldn't help but notice that there was only one bed, and it was hard to banish the thoughts that came to her when she saw it. There was no one to interrupt them here.

She found the fireplace and brought wood from the stack by the door, getting the fire going. By the time Cullen came in, it was crackling merrily, and she had water heating for tea in the kettle she'd found.

"Horses all set?" she asked, while he shook himself off in the doorway.

"Yes. It's a dreadful downpour out there. Of course, we're lucky it's unseasonably warm for Ferelden—this could have been a blizzard, and then we'd have been in real trouble."

"This is unseasonably warm?" Antonia shivered.

Cullen grinned. "I keep forgetting you're from the exotic and sunny north."

"We get snow in Ostwick."

"Pretty white snowfalls right around Firstday?"

"Something like that. These expeditions into Ferelden have been a bit of an eye-opener. And now you tell me they're unseasonal?" She shook her head.

"At least it's warm in here." Cullen looked around, nodding. "I can't believe I remembered how to find this place. It looks just the same."

"What is it?"

"A hunting cabin—some neighbors built it for trips into the mountains hunting elk and bear. I haven't been here in ... whew, twenty-some-odd years now." He looked at her now. "I hope you got dried off. If I let you get sick, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Yes, that's the reason to be concerned about my health," Antonia said dryly.

Cullen chuckled. "I suppose we should think about something to eat."

"There's not a lot left."

"No, I'd been figuring we'd make it to the first checkpoint tonight and share the evening meal with the soldiers. It's not that much farther, really, but those mountain roads in this rain wouldn't have been safe."

Antonia shivered. She'd taken off her outer jacket, but her shirt was wet, too, even after sitting in front of the fire. She undid the buttons, sliding it off her shoulders. When she stood up to hang it over the back of her chair, Cullen was just turning around from having taken off his own jacket. The sound of it dripping onto the boards in front of the door and the crackle of the fire were the only noises in the room as they froze, staring at each other. Antonia could feel the silk of her camisole plastered to her body, and Cullen's shirt was so wet it outlined every muscle in his extremely muscular torso.

Without any memory of either of them actually moving, suddenly Antonia found herself in his arms, kissing him hungrily. Her hands were busy at the buttons of his shirt, fighting with the sodden fabric. He moved his arms to let her peel it off them, then, breaking the kiss for a moment, tugged the silk camisole off over her head. Antonia unfastened her breastband and let it drop.

Cullen's hands, always warm, were like fire as he cupped her breasts, kneading them, his thumbs brushing the nipples. Antonia gasped, pressing closer as she kissed her way down his neck and over his collarbone. She licked the water droplets rolling down his chest and traced the curves and lines of his muscles with her tongue and teeth the way she had imagined doing every time she sparred with him on the training ground, revelling in the catches in his breathing that met each kiss and touch. Dropping to her knees, she kissed her way across his belly, her hands going to the buttons on his pants.

And then she was on her feet, both her wrists clasped painfully in one of Cullen's hands, his eyes blazing at her in all the wrong ways.

"Cullen!" Antonia tugged at her wrists, managing to break one free. "Cullen!" She cupped his jaw in her free hand.

Awareness came back into his eyes. "Oh, Maker, I'm sorry." He let go of her wrist, trying to turn away, but Antonia held him there in front of her. "I'm so sorry."

"Is that—"

"What I've been afraid of?" he finished for her. "Pretty much." Again he tried to pull away, but she gripped his upper arms and held him there with her. "Let me go, Antonia."

She shook her head. "No. Tell me how we fix this."

"Maybe we don't."

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do. Look at this!" He pried one of her hands off his arm, gently touching the red mark he had left on her wrist.

"That? I do worse to myself on any given Friday. I'm not as fragile as you seem to think I am." Antonia pressed closer, feeling the shiver that went through him as her naked breasts made contact with his bare skin. "Cullen, I can wait, as long as you need me to. But I can't just walk away from this ... and I don't think you can, either. Please ... don't let this come between us."

He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. "You— You are a never-ending source of surprises."

"Is that an answer?"

"It's—a surrender, Inquisitor. It seems I am yours to command."

"Good." Antonia kissed him, quickly, and then let him go. She put her shirt back on, grimacing at the feeling of the wet, cold fabric. Cullen reached for his as well, and she put out a hand. "You can leave yours off, if you'd rather, unless you're cold."

"I'm never cold."

"How fortunate for you," she said, shivering.

"Then come closer to the fire and get warm." He tucked her into a chair and started making tea and assessing what was in the packs. Antonia sat and got warm, as ordered, and let him bustle around. Having something to do clearly made him feel better, and they both needed a chance to cool off a little. There wasn't much to eat, especially with some saved for breakfast, but neither of them were particularly hungry, so it didn't matter. The tea was hot, and warming, and the fire slowly heated the cabin.

Putting her cup aside, Antonia looked over at Cullen to find him watching her, an intense look in his eyes. "What is it?"

"It— I was wondering, if ..." He paused, clearing his throat. "After, um, earlier, I wanted to know if ... you would let me make it up to you."

"Make it up to me?" Antonia tried to keep her pulse from leaping, but it was too late. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming short. "Are you— Do you mean what I think you mean?"

"Let's find out." He stood up, reaching for her hand, and led her over to the bed. "Lie down."

"Cullen, are you sure?"

"It's my issue, not yours. And—I want to. Please," he finished in a husky whisper that sent heat spreading through her. He bent and kissed her ear, then down her neck, his fingers starting on the buttons of her shirt. "Unless you'd rather I didn't?"

"No, no," she said hastily. "By all means." She sank down on the edge of the bed, which was surprisingly comfortable, the blankets soft, and quickly unlaced her boots, kicking them off. Cullen was watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded, and he waved to indicate she should keep going. Antonia stripped the rest of her clothes off—which was a relief, since they were still not dry after the rain.

Cullen caught his breath at the sight of her. "Oh. Oh, Maker. You are—"

Antonia blushed at the look in his eyes, suddenly shy.

He gently pressed her back onto the bed, kneeling next to it, and bent to kiss her. Then he moved slowly down her body, his hands and mouth exploring every contour, tasting her skin, finding areas of sensitivity Antonia hadn't known she had. Somewhere in the rising haze of arousal she wondered where he had learned all this—she had thought of Templars as being rather sheltered, but there was no question that Cullen knew exactly what he was doing. Had she known, she would have been waiting for this with a lot less patience.

Cullen nipped at a spot on her hip that made her gasp and twitch, and he used her movement to nudge her legs apart. The first touch of his fingers in the wet heat he had created was amazing. Antonia's hips left the bed instantly, pushing up against those clever, clever fingers that seemed to know just what she wanted. She was trembling, calling out his name and begging him not to stop as he stroked her inside and out. Then he shifted angle just a bit and she froze, so close.

"Cul-len," she bit out between her clenched teeth. He pressed, right where she wanted, and she cried out wordlessly as the waves of pleasure hit her with all the force of the months of pent-up longing and frustration, warming her all through.

She collapsed back onto the mattress. The long days, the poor sleep at night listening to him toss and turn and cry out in the throes of his nightmares, and the intensity of her peak combined to leach her energy away as the waves ebbed. Antonia felt Cullen's gentle hands tucking the blankets up around her, brushing her damp hair softly away from her forehead, and she fell asleep to his kisses on her face and his whispered endearments in her ear.

Hours later, she woke. It felt like the deep, dark middle of the night, everything quiet and peaceful. Cullen was in the chair next to the fire, nodding over a book he had unearthed from somewhere, and her clothes were piled, neatly folded, next to the bed.

She slid an arm out of the covers and picked up her shirt and pants, wriggling into them as quietly as she could, but she must have made some noise, because his head snapped up. "You're awake."

"So are you."

"You can go back to sleep, if you want to."

"Please come to bed."

"Antonia ..."

"No, really. I promise to behave myself."

He still looked hesitant, and she sighed.

"Cullen, tomorrow we're going home to Skyhold, where I get to see you in the brief time we can squeeze in between your work and mine, almost always interrupted by someone. If I've got you to myself for only a few more hours, either I'm getting up, or you're coming to bed. Please?"

"You are extremely difficult to say no to."

"Good." She watched as he put the book down, and scooted over to make room for him. Despite himself, he sighed as his body relaxed into the mattress. Antonia tucked herself against his chest, feeling his chin come to rest on the top of her head.

"Happy now?"

His voice rumbled against her ear, the sound soothing and exciting at the same time. "Mm-hm." Antonia nodded, blissfully warm now, snuggled against the heat from his body. She drifted off again. When next she awoke, it was early morning, the light still pale through the windows. She started to say something, sure that Cullen must be awake, but slowly became aware of his deep, even breathing and how still he was. She lay there for a long time, just listening to him sleep.

When she couldn't lie still any longer, she slid carefully out of his arms and off the bed. Cullen made a protesting noise in the back of his throat and shifted on the pillows, then quieted again.

Antonia tended the horses, reloaded the packs, and even found time to go take a quick sponge bath in the stream that ran near the cabin. It was swollen with yesterday's rain, and things were a bit muddy outside, but otherwise it was a lovely day, especially as the sun rose higher and began to warm it.

Cullen eventually stirred sometime in the mid-morning. Antonia had given up waiting for him and started tea and bacon because she was starving, and the scents woke him. He sat up, blinking at her as he came to full alertness, and Antonia just watched him for a moment. Cullen sleepy and just awakened was absolutely adorable.

He yawned, stretching. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to leave you to do everything yourself. How long was I asleep?"

"Well, if we assume it was about 3 in the morning when I convinced you to get in bed, and it's probably around 10 or a little after now ... seven hours?"

"Seven hours?" His jaw dropped. "That's ... a little surprising. It's been quite some time since I slept that long at a stretch."

"Then I'm glad I made you come to bed."

"I ... am, too."

Smiling, Antonia turned back to the bacon, letting him have a few moments to get himself up and about. She portioned out what they had, along with the last two biscuits, just as he was coming back in, his hair wet from the stream.

They ate, and put the cabin back the way it had been when they got there, and loaded the horses, and at last were ready to mount up and head back to Skyhold. Cullen stopped her before she could put a foot in the stirrup.

"This has not been exactly what I envisioned, but ... thank you for coming with me."

"Anywhere. Anytime. All you have to do is ask."

He frowned, looking unsure. "Are you—"

Antonia cut him off with a kiss. "Yes. I am."

His arms came around her, holding her tight, and Antonia wished they never had to leave.


	41. Pranks

_Thank you for reading, all! _

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_20 Haring, 9:41_

Antonia leaned on the railing of the tavern, listening to the hum around her. Something seemed off today, and she said as much to Sera, who was leaning next to her.

"Ya think?" Sera said, looking at her as though she were daft. "Whole tavern full o' people, all drinking alone. What you want is everyone drinking together, havin' a little fun, but they're all so up their own arses about the Inquisition."

Frowning, Antonia surveyed the room. Despite the Sera-speak, it was a fairly accurate assessment of what was going on. "Any ideas how we can fix it?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm thinking pranks. You and me, messin' around in people's stuff."

"How does that help?"

"Well, we bother the big folks, and then they seem like little folks, and that makes everybody happy. You and the general knockin' boots helps, naturally, makes everyone else think it's all right to do the same, but it's still you two big mucky-mucks, so only to be expected, really."

Antonia didn't bother to correct the sadly incorrect assumption about her relationship with Cullen. "That makes an odd kind of sense, Sera. Let's do it."

"What, you mean it?" Sera stared at her in disbelief.

"Yes, I do. I think it's a good idea."

Sera laughed, still looking a bit surprised. "I knew you were different! Let's go."

"Where do we start?"

"Oh, the big three, of course. You know if any of 'em are likely to be out of their offices?"

Antonia frowned. It was just after lunch—Josephine would be taking her afternoon siesta, a holdover from her childhood in Antiva. In another hour, Cullen would be heading for the practice grounds, and then they'd all be meeting in the War Room in another hour after that. She said as much to Sera, who was delighted by the information.

They stopped in Josephine's office first, where they balanced a bucket of sticky syrup by the door to Josephine's private quarters. Antonia felt a little guilty about it, but Sera had a good point—Skyhold was intimidated by the "big three," as Sera called them, because they seemed so aloof and so competently in charge all the time. Shaking their composure a bit would make them seem more accessible.

If she were telling the truth, Antonia had to admit that she, too, was as much in awe of her advisors, and felt nearly as inadequate in front of them, as she had been in those first days in Haven. Even her growing intimacy with Cullen had only served to make her admire him and everything he had accomplished more.

Sera caught her eye. "Now, see, you're going all serious again. Can't have that."

"No, I suppose not."

"They scare you too, eh?"

"Something like that."

"See, that's why we need you. 'Cause you're not one of us, but you're not one o' them, either, and we can all see that." Sera nodded firmly. "Yeah."

On the battlements high above, Cullen was just leaving his office. He'd follow through the abandoned guardhouse and take the stairs to the training ground in the upper courtyard. Antonia grabbed Sera by the arm, pulling her down the stairs to the lower courtyard, before he could see them. Then they took the stairs from the lower courtyard up to Cullen's office.

Sera looked around it, wrinkling her nose. "Lots of books. He read them all?"

"As far as I know."

"Good on him. Now ... what can we do to make General Uptight go off his rocker?"

Antonia had some ideas on that topic, but they weren't quite what Sera was looking for.

Sera was looking at his desk, frowning. "That's a big one. Looks heavy. Wouldn't want to damage it—take down half the Inquisition that way." She grinned suddenly, pouncing on a sliver-thin piece of wood in a pile of building materials in the corner. Antonia wondered if he was ever going to have the ceiling fixed in the loft, or if the building materials were just there to keep people from asking him that very question. Sera broke the end off the piece of wood. "Now, we put this under his desk, sets it just that little bit off. He'll never figure it out, and it'll drive him right 'round the bend. Then I whisper it to one or two of the soldiers, and he looks like people."

That was a surprisingly accurate description of how Cullen would react to the minor annoyance of his desk being off-kilter, Antonia thought. She lifted the corner to let Sera slip the sliver of wood underneath, and they tested it. The desk shifted just slightly, subtly enough that it would take him some time to figure it out.

In the process, a stack of papers fell off, and they both went down on their knees scrambling to pick everything up.

Antonia found herself holding a piece of paper with a note on it written in Cullen's familiar capitals, and overwritten with a darker script that flowed across the page. She couldn't help glancing at it.

The part in Cullen's writing read simply, _Dear Mia, I'm still alive. Your loving brother, Cullen._ Antonia raised her eyebrows at that one, and couldn't argue with Mia's note, scrawled on top of Cullen's:

_Honestly, is it so difficult? We thought you were dead. Again. If the Inquisition was not on everyone's lips, we never would have heard that their fine commander survived Haven._

On the back, Mia had written more calmly a slightly longer message:

_We've been hearing strange things about the Templars lately. I'm not sorry you left them. We thought your resignation was implied when you joined the Inquisition, but you meant something more, didn't you?_

_It's a fool's errand asking you to stay safe, but please try._

_Your loving sister (see how easy this is?),_

_Mia_

"Reading his mail, now?" Sera asked. Her lips were pursed with disapproval.

"No. No, of course not," Antonia lied, putting the letter back. She glanced quickly at the envelope that went with it, memorizing the name and return address in South Reach. The idea that had come to her at the lake sounded even better now, having read that letter. Then she thought about it in conjunction with what Sera had been saying, and it suddenly grew into a much bigger, grander, more complicated idea that made her smile just thinking about it.

She and Sera gave some thought to what to do to Leliana's desk, but were chased away, giggling like schoolgirls, before they could come up with anything. Sera paused in the courtyard, looking at Antonia admiringly.

"Never would have guessed you'd go along with such a caper. You're not bad, Inquizzybuckles."

"Thank you, Sera. I had more fun than I would have expected." Antonia smiled at her companion, who smiled back before skipping off through the ever-present puddles.

Left alone, Antonia worked on her new plan, trying to decide who she would get to assist her with it, because she would never be able to pull it off alone.

In the War Room meeting, Cullen was harried, clearly still behind from their trip to Ferelden, and he disappeared with a hasty smile and a touch of the hand immediately afterward. Antonia didn't mind today—she was anxious to get started on her plan.

She sought out Flissa, who had run the tavern in Haven and had been acting as keep seneschal for some time now. "Would you mind coming up to my quarters? I have a favor to ask of you."

"Of course."

"Mind you, you're not going to enjoy it. It will be rewarding, but a lot of work."

"I'm slightly less excited than I was a moment ago, then, Inquisitor."

Antonia smiled. "Let me explain."

Ten minutes later, with the entire plan laid out before her, Flissa stared at Antonia open-mouthed. "The entire keep?"

"Right."

"I suppose I should be flattered, but mostly I'm overwhelmed. I'm sorry, was that too honest?" She looked at Antonia with concern, but Antonia smiled at her.

"No, not at all. Please, don't stand on ceremony. If it can't be done, I want to know now."

"Well, I'm sure it can, but I don't even know if we have a full census of everyone who lives here."

Antonia frowned thoughtfully. "Commander Cullen is the most likely person to have such a thing, if it exists, but obviously I don't want you to approach him about this. Let me sound him out and see what information he has."

"Yes, Inquisitor." There was a speculative twinkle in Flissa's eye, but she didn't ask, and Antonia didn't share.

"And if there isn't a census, then all the more reason that this is a good idea. We ought to know who lives here, and who their families are, and where they're from."

"Yes, we should," Flissa said softly, both of them thinking of Haven.

"So that's where we start. You begin on a census of everyone who lives here—I'll get you whatever Cullen already has—and where they're from. Then at Wintersend, we'll announce that we're giving everyone the opportunity to either go visit their families or have their families visit them on a rolling basis, to be administrated by you."

"You know they're all going to yell at me."

Antonia grinned. "I'll tell you what, I'll give you an early Wintersend present: the ability to say to anyone who gives you any trouble, 'Inquisitor's orders'."

"That is a good present. Thank you, Inquisitor." They both laughed.

"You of course are welcome to go first, Flissa, if there's anyone you want to bring here. I'll handle things for my advisors and companions. And not a word about this until Wintersend, to anyone. Understood?"

"Understood." Flissa stood up, still looking a bit shell-shocked. "Inquisitor, this is a great idea and it's going to make a lot of people happy ... but I think I'm going to wish you'd chosen someone else before this is over."

"Funny, that's about how I feel about being the Inquisitor."

Flissa looked at her with surprised sympathy. "I hadn't thought of it that way. In that case, I'm honored that you chose me for this, and I'm glad to be able to take some of the burden off your shoulders."

Antonia smiled. "Don't go feeling too badly for me. It has some nice perks."

After Flissa had gone, Antonia sat down at her desk. First she wrote to Yvette Montilyet, offering her and other members of the Montilyet family the hospitality of Skyhold for Wintersend, and asking her not to mention it to Josephine. That was the easy letter. She fiddled with the second one in a couple of drafts before finding a version she was satisfied with.

_Dear Mrs. Chaffee,_

_It has come to my attention that Commander Cullen has not had the opportunity to see his family in quite some time, and I would like to rectify that situation on his behalf. To that end, consider this an invitation to your family to visit the Inquisition at Skyhold for the Wintersend holiday._

_Please write at your earliest convenience with the number we can expect, so that we can see to your accommodations appropriately. As this is to be a surprise for the commander, I would consider it a personal favor if you would not mention this to him beforehand._

_His work has been indispensable to the Inquisition. He works very hard, but overall is well. He speaks of you often._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Antonia Trevelyan_

_Inquisitor_

The tone was more formal than Antonia usually used for anything short of official communication with heads of state, but she was anxious not to distract from the surprise for Cullen by giving any hints that might make his sister think there was more to their relationship than Inquisitor/Commander. She addressed and sealed that letter and the one to Yvette Montilyet and gathered them up. She had one more person to talk to before she could consider the plan actually launched.

Downstairs, she found Varric bent over his story, alternately scribbling and mumbling to himself. When he saw her, he threw down the pen with an expression of relief. "Herald! Pull up a chair. You're just in time to save me from some really bad writing—mine."

"Glad I could help?" Antonia grinned. "Cassandra wouldn't thank me for distracting you, though."

"That woman will not leave me alone," Varric grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "'Write another chapter, Varric'; 'give them more fighting to do, Varric'; 'the main character doesn't have enough manly chest hair, Varric'. Okay, I made that last one up."

"I thought you might have. Doesn't sound like Cassandra."

"So what can I do for you, Herald?"

"I have a favor to ask. Two, actually."

"I'm intrigued. You so rarely ask for anything."

"Well, it's not really for me this time, either, but I can't think of anyone else I trust enough who has the requisite connections."

"Ooh, connections. I like the sound of this." Varric leaned across the table conspiratorially. "Who do I have to kill?"

"Is Hawke still at Weisshaupt?"

"I think so. I got a furious letter from Fenris that blamed me for the whole situation and said he was storming Weisshaupt to bring her home. Of course, I may have written my letter to him in such a way as to provoke that reaction."

"Good. There's someone I want her to look for." Leaning forward, she explained.

Varric whistled. "You don't want much, do you?"

"Can you do it?"

"Of course!"

"Thank you, Varric. Also, would you mail these for me, so that no one knows they've gone out, and so that any replies come straight to me?"

Varric glanced at the letters. "Writing to Commander Loverboy's sister, eh? The trip to Ferelden was either very good ... or very bad." He winked at her.

"How did you know her name?"

"Please, Herald. Compared to what you're asking me to find out, this is small potatoes."

* * *

_A/N: __I am looking for ideas of things Cullen can/would do to prank Sera back once he figures out what's been done, because I'm drawing a blank. Any suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks!_


	42. Right Here Where You Are

_This was a fun chapter to do - I hope you all enjoy it as well! Thank you for reading! _

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_24 Haring, 9:41_

The door to the office opened for the fourth time in a quarter hour, and for the fourth time Cullen looked up hopefully, his breath coming short and his heart leaping. It was absolutely ridiculous, he told himself. He was a grown man in a position of tremendous responsibility in one of the most powerful organizations in Thedas—and yet it seemed all he could think about was a beautiful woman with big brown eyes.

It wasn't her again this time, and after he dealt with the new dispatch he bent back over his desk trying to keep his mind on his work, reminding himself that she was busy, too, with as many calls on her time as there were on his. But she was leaving tomorrow for Orlais, and he worried, as he always did, craving the reassurance of her presence as long as he could have it.

The door opened a fifth time, and this time it actually was her. Cullen mustered enough control to say, "I hoped you'd stop by," more or less casually, when what he really wanted to do was leap over his desk and kiss her.

"Do you have some time?" Her eyebrows were up, and now so was his heartrate, following her implication perfectly.

"I believe so." He absolutely did not; everything on his desk was urgent. "Wait for me?"

"I can stay a few minutes." Antonia gave a pointed look around the room, and one by one the soldiers disappeared.

"How did you do that? I can never get them to do that."

She smiled. "Perks of being the Inquisitor."

"That, and everyone's scared of you."

Antonia frowned. "I don't see why. I mean, I'm not Cassandra. Or you. Or Leliana."

"No, I suppose not, but you're very ..." He searched for the words. "Quiet? You seem to know just what's going on, and you never raise your voice, and you're very nice about it, but you expect people will do what you tell them to do."

"Varric said I had 'scary equanimity.'"

Cullen considered the phrase. "An apt description. Since you never lose your temper, everyone assumes that if you ever do very bad things will happen."

"Do they?"

"You're asking me? You've never lost your temper with me, either." He bent over the papers on his desk again to avoid looking at her. "Although Maker knows you've had reason."

"I have not. Don't be ridiculous." She hitched her hip onto the corner of his desk. "Now, will you finish up there? I'll get in trouble if I drag you away before your work is done."

"Wait. Do that again."

"What? This?" Antonia stood up and sat down again, and Cullen furrowed his brow. "What?"

"There's something ... off. I don't know what. I thought maybe ... but it seems to be all right." He glanced up at her. "Someone said they saw Sera in here yesterday. I know she did something, and when I find out what it was, I will—" He couldn't think of anything in specific. "I will do something back."

Antonia laughed. "All right, then. Got anything in mind?"

"Not yet. Did you know she brought me cake the other day? Said I looked hungry."

"You probably did. You should eat more. Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, it was either an act of kindness or a trap. I was hoping you'd know which."

"Did you eat the cake?"

"Of course. And it was quite tasty. Which only adds to the confusion." Cullen picked up his pen, trying to finish the orders he'd been writing. But there, as she perched on the corner of the desk, in reach of his free hand, was a very toned, very shapely thigh, one he ached to touch. He knew how firm and soft that thigh would feel; he knew the sounds she would make if he ran his hand up that thigh to the warmth at the core of her; he knew exactly how she would call his name. And the further knowledge that he wasn't touching her the way they both wanted because of his own damned issues was doing nothing for his peace of mind.

"Maker's mercy!" He put down the pen, since he had absolutely no idea what nonsense he was writing, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Why do you put up with me?"

Antonia had clearly been lost in thought; she looked down at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Well, here you are, and here I am, and ... and I know what I want, and I think I know what you want, and—"

"You _think_? Perhaps I've been too subtle every time I drop in here to drag you off to the battlements." She was smiling at him.

Cullen pushed back his chair, looking up at her. "And here I am, too afraid of shadows to take advantage of the situation."

"Well, okay, but that's now. We're making progress." There was a flush on her cheeks, and he wondered if she was thinking about what had happened in the cabin in Ferelden. He hoped she was still thinking about that, anyway. Maker knew he was.

"I still can't understand—why it's worth it to you, this ... waiting." Couldn't she see herself? he wondered. "Look at you. You're the Inquisitor, and you're ... intelligent, and strong, and beautiful. You could snap your fingers and have any man in Skyhold—in Thedas, probably—at your beck and call. What are you doing wasting your time on a very damaged ex-Templar ten years your senior?" He hadn't meant to say all that, but it had been dammed up a long time.

Antonia tilted her head to the side. "You really don't know, do you? Look at yourself! You're the commander of the forces of the Inquisition. You're intelligent, and strong, and damned attractive. You can't tell me you don't feel the eyes on you as you walk through the keep. Half the women in Skyhold, and a significant number of the men, would give their eyeteeth to be up here where I am, and if I ever let you out of Skyhold, that would go for half the women in Thedas—not to mention a significant number of the men."

Cullen was aware of the eyes; he had been around enough to be cognizant of his own attractions. But none of those other women were her, and that was what made the difference, made him so much less confident where she was concerned. But by the same token, if he didn't deserve her, who did? The idea of another man being what she needed was ... impossible to contemplate.

Antonia continued, "So what are you doing wasting your time on a slip of a girl ten years your junior who couldn't in a hundred ages fathom everything you've been through or how you had the strength to come through it the way you have?" She clearly meant it, too, which filled him with wonder. "You may think you're too damaged, if you want to call it that, for me, and I think I'm too young and too inexperienced for you ... but at the end of the day, this is the only place I want to be, right here where you are. And I think you feel the same way." Her voice was soft and husky with emotion that she didn't even try to hide.

"You _think_?" he echoed her, trying for lightness, but his voice was hoarse. What could you say to a woman like that? He got out of his chair, taking her face in his hands, and kissed her. And kissed her again, and once more, until they were both breathing heavily, and he wished with every fiber of his being that he was ready for more. "If you want, we could ... go upstairs, and ... I could—"

Antonia closed her eyes, and for a moment Cullen thought she was going to say yes, but then she shook her head firmly, putting her hands on his breastplate and pushing him back. "No. Not that I don't ... the other night in the cabin was ... um ... wow. Someday I'm going to want to know exactly where you learned all that."

Cullen could feel the tips of his ears reddening, thinking of that very interesting interlude from his past. Someday perhaps he would tell Antonia all about that, but not yet.

"But next time things get—that far ... I want everything." She was looking at him now, her eyes serious. "Do—do you understand?"

Cullen nodded, not quite sure he could get words out. He had always known she was unbelievable, but her patience and her generosity of spirit were a far greater gift than he had imagined—and despite her fine words, a greater gift than he deserved.

"Good." Antonia hopped down from the desk. "You know, in listing off your virtues before, I forgot to mention that you're the only person in fifteen years who has beaten me at chess. Let's go see if you can do it again."

"You're on, Inquisitor. I believe you'll have to prepare for a losing streak." But there was no chance of his winning today, whatever he might say—she was all he could concentrate on. And he didn't mind that at all.


	43. Billing and Cooing

_Time to check in with 'the boys'! Thanks for reading, and happy Tuesday!  
_

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_27 Haring, 9:41_

"You are aware that you've ruined our general, aren't you?"

Antonia choked on a swallow of ale, looking wide-eyed at Varric over the rim of her cup. "I'm sorry, would you like to explain that to me?"

"He means, my dear girl, that our commander has been reduced to following you about like a lovesick cow."

"Not a cow, Dorian," rumbled the Iron Bull. "Cows are too gentle and passive. There's real hunger in the way he looks at her. More like a lovesick wolf."

"Maker. What did I do to deserve the three of you?" Antonia asked faintly.

"I think you got incredibly lucky." Varric beamed at her. He laid his cards down. "And that's the game."

"It is not!" She looked at her hand. "Fine, it is, too. You cheat."

"Thank you. I'm glad you've noticed." Varric shuffled the cards, dealing in Dorian and the Iron Bull this time.

"So how was Ferelden, Antonia dear?" Dorian asked, moving his cards around. He looked up, catching the Iron Bull's eyes on him. "What? Fine, I will arrange them again a different way. Now do you know what I have?"

"I knew what you had when Varric dealt it to you—you have crap." The Iron Bull grinned. "Varric's predictable."

"I'll show you predictable," muttered Varric.

"Please, not the Magician again. Show some originality."

Varric glared at the Qunari, stuffing the Magician back up his sleeve. "Someday I'm going to figure out how you do that."

"Good luck, shorty."

Antonia tried to play silently, hoping if she kept quiet long enough they would all go off on a tangent and forget that Dorian had asked about Ferelden. Then she looked up and saw the mage's eyes still on her, waiting, and she groaned.

Dorian chuckled at her discomfort. "Ferelden, my dear?"

"It was very nice."

"Come on, Dorian, you know nothing happened."

"I know nothing of the sort."

"No, Tiny's right," Varric said. "Because if something had happened, we would still be at Skyhold instead of blistering our chests in this Maker-forsaken desert."

"If you would wear actual armor," Antonia snapped.

"The rest of us wouldn't have to spend so much time keeping Dorian from setting you on fire." The Iron Bull smirked at both mage and dwarf.

"Can I help it if I want to see if he explodes like a firecracker?"

"I hate you all," Varric muttered.

"All this isn't getting us any more detail from the boss, either," the Iron Bull pointed out, shifting cards around. Antonia was fairly sure he had one more card than he should, but it really wasn't worth pointing out. "Spill, boss."

"Why don't the three of you go out and find your own ... entertainment, and leave me in peace?"

"Don't look at me," Varric said. "Bianca's enough for me."

Dorian made a show of looking at his cards, and the Iron Bull furtively glanced at the mage and then away. Antonia made a mental note to get Varric alone at some point and see if he knew what was up with those two.

"You know, actually, there's a lot of that going around these days." Varric placed the winning card with a triumphant crow and raked in the pot.

"A lot of what?"

"Billing and cooing."

The Iron Bull watched Antonia's hands carefully as she dealt, although why he did that she wasn't sure, since she was the only one who didn't even try to cheat. "Yeah, boss, Varric's got a point. I guess people figure if someone as important as you and as hard-assed as the commander can make time for ... uh ... personal stuff, things are pretty good and there's time for other people to do personal stuff."

"Or they figure clearly we're all about to die and they want to go happy," Varric said.

"You're a very dark person, Varric," the Iron Bull said.

Varric shrugged. He frowned at his cards. "I never know what I'm going to get when you deal, Herald."

"Isn't that the way it's supposed to be?" Antonia asked him, earning guffaws from both Varric and the Iron Bull. "So who else is ... er, billing and cooing, as you put it?"

"Tiny, who've you got?"

"Meryden the Bard and Sera, for one. And about time, too," the Iron Bull grumbled. "I got so sick of that Sera song."

"I thought it was catchy." Varric chuckled. "If a bit obvious."

"Did the job, I have to give her that."

"Who else?" Antonia placed a card, to raised eyebrows and disappointed clucks of the tongue all around.

Dorian played the winning card on top of hers, chuckling as he raked in the pot. "I've heard Harritt has been hovering around Threnn," he said. "Best of luck to him. That woman's frightening."

"Yeah, but Harritt talks her language—hot steel."

"That sounds filthy," Dorian said.

"Thank you." The Iron Bull winked at him. "You know who else? Scout Harding and Krem. They're freaking adorable."

"That doesn't bother you, Tiny?"

"Why should it? Krem's a good guy; he deserves to be happy. Wouldn't have pictured him with a dwarf, but she's a cutie. Can't fault his taste." The Iron Bull was dealing now, blatantly off the bottom of the deck. He grinned at Varric's mortified face.

"I believe this is my last hand for the evening," Dorian said. He yawned ostentatiously, fooling no one.

"Tired of giving me all your money, Vint?" the Iron Bull asked, keeping his eye on his cards.

"Something like that."

It was a silent final round, and when it was over, Dorian got up and wandered out of the camp into the darkness.

The Iron Bull collected his winnings. "Boss, all joking aside, you all right?"

"With Cullen, you mean?"

"Yeah."

Antonia smiled. "Yes."

"Good. He's not half bad—I'd hate to have to kill him." The Iron Bull yawned, too, also fooling no one, and got up, only he went into his tent.

"What's going on with these two?" Antonia asked Varric in a whisper.

He shrugged. "I think you might want to ask your pet mage, though. He's too quiet. It's not natural."

"How about you, Varric? Any news?"

"Yeah. I got the information you wanted and sent the message. No returns on that or your letters yet; I'll keep you posted."

"Thanks, Varric." Impulsively, Antonia bent and kissed the dwarf's cheek.

"Aw, go on with you," he said, blushing.

She followed Dorian's footsteps into the sand, finding him standing not far from camp looking up into the starry sky.

"Copper for your thoughts?"

He jumped. "Antonia, dear, must you sneak?"

"No one's ever accused me of sneaking up on them before. Must be the desert sand." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "I couldn't help noticing that someone was awfully quiet tonight. Trouble?"

"You don't need my issues on top of everything else on your plate."

"Of course I do. Spill. This have something to do with the Bull?"

"How could it have anything to do with that Qunari slob? He drinks pig swill that he refers to as 'ale', he never wears a shirt, he is coarse and disgusting, and he can't play a decent game of chess."

"Oh, I bet he could. If he wanted." Privately, Antonia thought if the Iron Bull wanted, he could wipe the chess board with all of them; but he liked to pretend to be less intelligent than he was, as part of his spycraft.

"But he doesn't want to. Clearly we have nothing in common."

"Except that you can't keep your eyes off each other." Antonia grinned at Dorian's disgruntled expression. "You can't always predict who you're going to fall for, you know."

"My dear. As though you could use the words 'fall for' regarding that oaf."

Antonia raised an eyebrow at him. "Methinks you doth protest too much, my friend."

"We can't all be as fortunate as you are."

"My path isn't necessarily as smooth as it looks. There could be ... complications."

"Antonia, my sweet girl, that man has had eyes for no one but you for as long as I've known you both. Any complications there are, I'm certain you'll smooth them over."

"And you?"

"I will continue to stand here and look at the stars and pretend that I am not a fool."

She patted his shoulder. "Good luck with that."

* * *

_A/N: I know the Dorian/Iron Bull romance is somewhat controversial, so I wanted to note that when I wrote this, due to a glitch in the game, I'd never had any of their background dialogue (Dorian was very silent this playthrough), so their romance in this story will not follow the same path as the in-game version._


	44. Shadows in a Future

_Thanks for reading!  
_

* * *

_3 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia finished the letter to King Alistair, going back over it to make sure she had remained within protocol. Not that he required it—he was very laid-back, as monarchs went—but she was used to doing it, and didn't want any rumors of favoritism toward Ferelden based on her correspondence. Leliana and Josephine had cured her of thinking anything she wrote was safe from being read by other people's spies, and they had trained her to approach her correspondence with that thought in mind.

Blotting the letter, she put it aside, and picked up the next item on her desk, a reminder from Josephine that there were several representatives from Nevarra at Skyhold and that she should make certain Cassandra showed up to dinner in a properly friendly frame of mind. Antonia wasn't sure how she was supposed to work that miracle, but she'd give it her best shot. Maybe she'd ask Varric to the dinner; the dwarf often put Cassandra in a surprisingly ... playful mood.

As Antonia continued to make her way through the stack of letters and memos, Roya came up the stairs with a tray, setting it down on the corner of Antonia's desk. "My lady, I brought you some tea. I want you to be sure to drink it."

The seriousness of the maid's tone caused Antonia to look up. "Any special reason I wouldn't?"

"Taste it."

"All right." She took a sip, and grimaced. "Roya, why am I drinking this? Are you poisoning me? Is this when you reveal you're secretly Carta and have been hired to take out the Inquisitor?"

Roya raised her eyebrows. "That is not a joking matter, my lady. And neither is this."

"Then what is this about?"

"You'll need to drink a cup of this every day going forward. It's ..." The dwarf sighed. "It is too bad you don't have a mother, child."

"My mother passed away years ago, and didn't have much time for parent-child chats beforehand. I suppose you'll just have to do." Antonia smiled at the dwarf.

"Very well, my lady. Now that you and the commander are ... you and the commander, it is well that you think about preventing certain outcomes that someone in your position cannot afford."

Outcomes? Antonia frowned, sipping the tea obediently. Then her eyes widened. "Are you saying—you mean, outcomes. Of ..." She blushed.

"I am saying that now would be a particularly bad time for you to become with child, my lady," Roya said, her eyes unusually soft and kind.

Antonia put the cup down, staring into the dark liquid. With child. Obviously, that wasn't an issue yet, but even if it had been—if she and Cullen had made love on the trip to Ferelden, she wouldn't even have thought about pregnancy. "Roya, we don't— I mean, we aren't— I mean, I really don't need this."

There was a smile on the dwarf's face now. "You will. And once you begin taking this, you need to keep doing so, one cup every morning, even when you're away, or it may not work."

"Can't we make it taste better?" Antonia said, grimacing as she took another swallow.

"I will see what I can do."

Antonia said softly, "I really couldn't have a baby right now if I wanted to, could I?"

She hadn't even thought about it, not beyond some shadowy imagining far down the road, but having thought about it now, she couldn't get the idea out of her mind. She would love to have Cullen's children, she thought. Girls and boys, lots of them. A big, happy family, like the one he had grown up in. But even once such a thing was possible, even once they reached a point where he felt comfortable making love ...

Antonia put a hand over her face. She tried not to think about what would happen when she inevitably had to face Corypheus and his Archdemon, because the truth was, when she did that, she was almost certainly going to die. So she kept her thoughts on the present as much as possible, and off the future, because she didn't believe she had one. Which meant that those so suddenly vivid children she hadn't even known she wanted would remain nothing more than that—shadows in a future that could never come to pass.

Her eyes filled with tears, which she hastily blinked away. There would be time enough to cry later; if she started now, she wouldn't be able to stop. Roya was watching her sympathetically, and Antonia straightened in her seat, finishing off the tea in one long swallow. "You'll make certain that I have some the next time I leave Skyhold, Roya?" she asked, deliberately businesslike.

"Yes, my lady." Roya hesitated near her for a moment, her hand reaching out to skim over the top of Antonia's head, and then she left and Antonia forced herself to go back to work. She was never to know what she had written to the Orlesian noble who had offered his troops to the Inquisition's service, but he eventually sent twice as many as he had intended, and pledged his own life in the Inquisition's cause.

Antonia walked a knife's edge of emotion the rest of the day. She hadn't wanted to think of what could come, but now she could think of little else. In the War Room meeting that afternoon, she avoided Cullen's eyes, sure that if she looked at him, she would start thinking of all the things she wanted out of a life after the Inquisition that she seemed so likely not to have, and she didn't want to break down the way she knew she would in that situation.

She was trying to figure out how she would get out of seeing him afterward, as they usually walked back to his office together, when Leliana caught her at the end of the meeting. "Inquisitor, would you mind if we had a chat?"

Antonia accepted gratefully. Whatever Leliana wanted to talk about, it had to be easier than not talking to Cullen.

"Shall we go up to your quarters?" Leliana asked.

"I ... suppose." Perhaps this wouldn't be easier, after all, if Leliana wanted to talk in private.

In the hallway leading up to Antonia's quarters, Leliana said, "You seem to be avoiding Cullen today."

"Yes."

"No trouble, I hope?"

"No." Antonia really didn't want to go into it; she didn't want to talk about the thoughts on her mind at all, much less with someone like Leliana who wasn't particularly a confidante anyway. Leliana was a lovely person, but she held herself aloof from everyone except Josephine, and that was only because they had been friends for so long.

"Well, that was what I wanted to talk to you about. A rather delicate subject, really."

"Haven't we already talked about the difficulties of love in wartime?"

"Yes, but in this case ..." Leliana stopped in the middle of the stairs and turned her blue eyes on Antonia. "I want to talk to you about the problems unique to being a woman in love in wartime."

"All right."

"Perhaps you have already thought of this—I do not know what your experience has been—but you and Cullen seem to be ... intimately involved, and I wanted to know if you had considered the consequences of that intimacy."

"Oh, by the Maker, not you, too!" Antonia said. She could feel her cheeks flaming.

"I take it this is a conversation you have already had?"

"Yes. With Roya, this morning."

"Ah. She's a good woman, that Roya. Did she bring you the tea?"

Antonia nodded. "Not that it's—" Why was she bothering? If everyone thought she was sleeping with Cullen, let them.

"No, you are not in need of it yet, but you will get there eventually." Leliana gave a rare smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Can everyone tell? Andraste's undergarments," Antonia moaned, sinking down on the couch and burying her head in her hands.

"I can tell, but these things are part of the Game, and I am trained to know what I am looking for. What others know or do not know ..." Leliana shrugged. "Do I take it that you had not considered the consequences of the potential for intimacy?"

"No." Antonia hadn't intended to talk about this, but the words spilled out of her of their own volition. "And I am sick to my stomach at my own naivete and stupidity. I could easily have gone into that situation and put myself in danger of having to make a choice between endangering the Inquisition and endangering the life of an innocent child—_my_ innocent child. How could I have been so unbelievably thoughtless of the consequences? Leliana, what are you doing letting someone as careless as I am be the head of something so important as the Inquisition?"

"Oh, my dear." Leliana sat down next to her, rubbing Antonia's back gently. "You are none of those things."

"Don't patronize me."

"I am not. I promise. You know, I was your age during the Blight; as was Thomas. Alistair was younger still, and none of us thought we were too young to save the world. The world needed saving; we were there to do it. There was no time to think of whether we were the best choice. With the Inquisition, we have had that time. You think we chose you because of that mark on your hand?" She shook her head. "If we had not had confidence in you, there would have been ways to involve you without making you Inquisitor. We chose you because there is something in you that people follow; you are able to speak to anyone and make them feel as though you are listening to them and interested in what they say, which is a more rare attribute, and more valuable, and more inspiring, than you might think."

"If they knew how little I know ... I look at the rest of you, and you seem so much more experienced than I am, so much—"

"Older? We are. Not that that is always a good thing. There are days I would give much to be 27 again." Leliana laughed. "Nonetheless ... if I were you, I would not dwell too much on a mistake you could have made but didn't. If I recall correctly, you were trained to be part of the Chantry—why would you have needed to know the means of preventing conception? And anyone can see that you and Cullen care very much for one another; in that circumstance, it is easy to focus only on what is happening between you and not think ahead."

"I don't want to think ahead, Leliana. Because if I think ahead, I have to think of facing Corypheus, and I have to contemplate the fact that I'm going to die. If I never think that far, I may not be able to fool myself into thinking I can have a future, but at least I don't have to dwell on the fact that I don't have one."

"I see. So what is truly bothering you is that you are feeling all the things you wanted in life slip from your grasp, with no way to get them back that you can trust in." Leliana sighed. "I have certainly been there. Not that I am a successful tale, given how things are for Thomas and me, but remember we were only a few people against an army of darkspawn and an Archdemon. And we survived. All of us survived. Hawke faced down an army of Qunari that would have terrified any opposing force, and then an outbreak of crazed mages and Templars at one another's throats, with, again, only a few people. And she survived, and even had the chance for a happy life with her lover, and a child, I understand. Meanwhile, you have the entire Inquisition at your back. Josephine and I, and certainly Cullen, spend our days thinking of ways to support you when you face Corypheus, so that you, too, can survive. You will not be alone, Antonia. I promise you that."

Antonia stared at the floor, wishing she felt comforted. "It's easier to embrace the dark future," she whispered. "Because if I think of the future in the light, if I want it too much—I don't know if I can do this job."

"That saddens me. You are of the light; the light and the joy inside you is what makes you a good balance for the darkness that unfortunately lives inside me, and Cullen, and to some extent my dear Josie. To see you bowed down by darkness means that somehow we have not done our jobs properly."

"I can't say that I see that. We all have to face the inevitability of death in our own way; I do it by focusing on today and pretending tomorrow doesn't exist. If it gets me through, isn't that what's important?"

"You could think that way, but I think what is most important is who you are on the other end. If you are no longer Antonia Trevelyan, but a dark shadow of her, the question is whether you actually got through at all or if you left the most important parts behind." Leliana patted her on the shoulder. "These are large thoughts you wrestle with, my dear. I can understand the temptation to push them away and deal with them later, but do not bottle things up too much. One day the pressure will be more than you can contain." She touched Antonia's hair affectionately, and then she left, leaving Antonia to her thoughts.


	45. Women

_Thank you for reading!  
_

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_3 Wintersend, 9:42_

Cullen had never entirely understood women. His sisters had been sixteen and ten when he left for the Templars, and he at thirteen too young to pay much attention to their moods. In the Circle, the female mages and Templars he'd come into contact with had been equal parts torment and temptation, and his own adolescent issues had taken precedent over any concern about interpreting theirs. Things had gone marginally better in Kirkwall—Hawke's Rivaini friend Isabela had waylaid him one night at the Hanged Man, and he hadn't made it back to the Gallows for three exceptionally informative, not to mention pleasurable, days. But while Isabela had taught him a great deal that he had been happy to learn, she had been the first to admit that when it came to the "girly stuff" she was as at sea as he was. After that, the number and quality of his physical encounters had certainly improved, but as to the emotions of his paramours, he had never been as enlightened as perhaps he should have been.

All of which he considered now, watching Antonia across the War Table. He had to count his lucky stars that she was of such a generally equable temper. He rarely saw her upset, and when she was, there tended to be a good reason for it. But it meant that when there was a problem, he was entirely unequipped to know what to do about it.

Right now, she was clearly upset, but if there was a good reason, or any reason, he was at a loss to know what it might be. Worse yet, the person with whom she appeared to be upset was him, which had him racking his brains to imagine what he could possibly have done. She'd only been back from the Western Approach for a day, and while they had seen each other on the battlements last night, it had been a particularly nice night, certainly no trouble there. The thought of the kisses they'd exchanged caused a tightening in the pit of his stomach that had him hastily moving his thoughts on to other topics.

Antonia continued avoiding his eyes, and then Leliana was with her after the meeting, which left Cullen to work through the afternoon, blocking out his confusion with all the myriad details of manning, instructing, feeding, and running an army. Fortunately, those details were of fairly absorbing interest to him, and before he knew it, he had worked entirely through Josephine's dinner with the Nevarrans.

Not that his presence had been particularly desired there. Josephine usually invited him to these things only when there was someone of a martial background in attendance to whom he could explain details about the Inquisition's army. Otherwise, Cullen's general distaste for the intrigues of the nobility made him a less than desirable dinner guest. He could be polite, and even charming, when necessary, but he'd made it clear long ago that it had better be very necessary if they expected it of him. He respected Josephine's role in their triumvirate, but felt that he added as little to her tasks as she would add to his if he asked her to appear on the battlefield.

Nonetheless, missing the dinner meant that he was that much closer to sunset, and he hastily finished off the set of orders he'd been writing and sent them off with the nearest soldier.

He was unusually nervous as he approached 'their' section of the battlements. This was the best part of his day, by leaps and bounds, this set of hours when he could hold her and kiss her and assure himself that she was real, and alive, and by some Maker-given miracle his—at least for now. But tonight he had no idea what to expect.

She was there, waiting for him, sitting on the courtyard-side wall, but she seemed tense, and she didn't smile when she saw him. From a sense of self-preservation, Cullen also sat on the wall, but left some distance between them.

"There you are."

"Mm-hm," she said absently. Her eyes were on the dark mountains, her expression unreadable.

They sat in silence until Cullen, unable to stand it any longer, cleared his throat. "Erm ... we've established that I'm not exactly good at this, haven't we?"

Antonia looked at him now, appearing genuinely confused. "Good at what?"

Cullen waved a hand between them. "This. And the talking about it that seems to need to happen right now. So, I think you should know that if I did something to upset you, I'm very sorry, or I will be as soon as I know what it was that I did."

She frowned, trying to make sense of that tangle of words. He wished her luck. "Oh," she said at last, and sighed. "It's not you. At least, it's nothing you did."

"That's ... comforting?"

"I can't ... I can't explain it." She reached out her hand and he took it in his. Without really thinking about it, he lifted her hand to his lips, and was going to kiss her palm. "NO!" She snatched her hand back out of his grasp, leaping off the wall, her face white as parchment.

Cullen was so flummoxed he wasn't certain what to do. It was hardly the first time he had done that, kiss her hand, and to say that she had never reacted quite that violently before was an understatement.

Antonia had her hand clenched and hidden behind her back. Looking at her, it dawned on Cullen suddenly that it was her left hand—the hand with Corypheus's mark. And he realized further, with some surprise, that she rarely touched him with that hand unless it was gloved.

She seemed to recognize that he understood, and to be searching for a way to explain. Trembling, she turned away from him, holding her hand out in front of her, staring at the green glow from the mark. "I hate this thing," she said in a low voice. "I want it off. I hate thinking of it being part of me, part of my body. But I can't get it off, and I don't even know if—if I manage to defeat Corypheus and I don't ... don't die in the process, will it go away? And the only person who can tell me that is Corypheus. Or maybe even he can't. But as long as it's here, then I—" She took a long, shuddering breath.

It hurt Cullen to see her like this, and to know that she was absolutely right about all of it and that there was nothing he could do to make it any better. Except—he got up off the wall and went to her, putting his hands on her hips and pulling her back against him, trying to offer as much support as he could.

But Antonia twisted away from him. "I'm sorry—it isn't you, not really. It's me, and this whole—the Inquisition and Corypheus and the mark and all of it. I shouldn't have come up here tonight, but I didn't want you to think it was you I was upset with; and now I've gone and made everything so much worse." She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. "I promise, we're okay, you and I, and I'll be all right tomorrow. I just need ... a little space today. To clear my head." She smiled at him, reminding him of what he had said about the lake.

"If you're sure ..."

"I am. Training ground tomorrow before breakfast, help me work out my issues on a practice dummy?"

"Of course." Feeling helpless, he watched her walk away and disappear into the door of the empty room above the tavern. He was left unsettled by her uncharacteristic outburst—but why shouldn't she have an outburst now and then? She carried the burdens of all of them. The Inquisition, yes, but she also took on Varric's problems and Cassandra's, Josephine's, Vivienne's, Dorian's, the Iron Bull's, Blackwall's, even Solas's and Cole's and Sera's. Not to mention his own apparently never-ending series of issues. And unlike himself, she had never done any of this before, never even been on the periphery of these world-changing events that seemed to keep happening. In fact, now that he thought of it, the real wonder was that she functioned at all, much less maintained her composure so thoroughly in the face of everything she dealt with.

And now he was depressed, thinking of the unyielding burdens on her shoulders and how little he could do to ease them. Cullen started to turn back toward his office, but the thought of pacing there alone during all the sleepless hours ahead of him was not appetizing. Instead, he went the other direction, down the steps to the upper courtyard and the tavern.

It occurred to him that without these last few months with Antonia, he would never have thought to look for companionship instead of solitude. She had bridged the divide he kept between himself and other people so neatly he hadn't even noticed what she was doing. If he had friends now, it was in large part because the people who loved her had accepted him as one of them.

One of those people was sitting at the bar right now, staring down into an untouched glass of wine. Cullen took a seat next to Dorian, calling for a cider. "You are the last person I expected to see here tonight," he said to the mage.

"Second to last. What are _you_ doing here? Don't you have an assignation on the battlements right about now?"

Cullen still felt a moment of displeasure that his private affairs were known so casually, but at the same time, he couldn't help feeling a certain amount of pride and happiness that everyone knew that extraordinary woman had chosen him, for whatever reason, to be with. "Not this evening, it appears." He thought of her slumped shoulders and the desperate, almost trapped look in her eyes, and sighed. "The Inquisition is weighing heavily on her tonight."

"And you're not helping to lift that weight?" Dorian asked him, eyebrows raised in disapproval.

"Ah ... no. Apparently I was only making things worse."

"I don't have to set you on fire, do I?"

"Not if you don't want to be smited." The clenched fist and the cold tone were automatic for Cullen, and far less than a similar comment would have garnered only a few months ago. Then, he would have smited just on general principle.

Dorian began to bristle, then nodded abruptly. "I am sorry—I wasn't thinking. Given the events in Kirkwall, such a joke is in unusually poor taste for me."

"In Kirkwall, and before," Cullen muttered, but he dipped his head in acknowledgement of the apology.

"On behalf of all mages, I apologize."

"On behalf of my Templar self, I do, too. Nothing about this is one-sided." Cullen sipped his cider, although it was tasteless in his mouth.

"It's a shame what has happened to your Order, though. Ironic, really, that the White and Black Chantries are such shining examples of how each side of that coin goes mad when in power over the other. Mages in my country, and Templars everywhere else." Dorian looked around the bar, lowering his voice. "Thus far, the Inquisition is an example of tolerance and balance, but how long can that last?"

Cullen wanted to argue that it could last indefinitely, but he and Dorian were intelligent men who knew what people were capable of—neither of them would have believed him. He sighed again, instead.

"Meanwhile, there's our dear girl up there alone in her quarters, trying to put that balance on her own shoulders and hold it there."

"We have given her an impossible task," Cullen agreed.

"I'm glad you know that. You and our fine birds have pushed her very hard. Not that she didn't need it, but ... it was good of you to take her away, before. I think she needed that."

"She wasn't the only one." Cullen thought of her with her head on his shoulder as they watched the sun rise over the lake. If only they could have stayed there. "And what of you?" he asked the mage. "What sorrows are you attempting to drown?"

"Not sorrow as much as foolishness. But choosing this place, of all places, is merely more foolishness."

Cullen wasn't sure what to do with that cryptic comment. He looked around at the surprisingly quiet tavern. "No Chargers tonight?"

"They're in Ferelden, some clean-up operation."

"Ah, yes." Cullen remembered signing off on Krem's request now. "So, you and the Iron Bull—" he began, meaning to express his surprise that a Qunari and a Tevinter mage got along so well, but Dorian's distressed and somehow wistful face stopped his words in their tracks.

"Did she tell you?"

"No, of course not!" Antonia was not particularly given to gossip, at least, not that Cullen had noticed. It was part of what made so many people trust her with their problems. "I hadn't meant—I mean, that wasn't what I was intending to get at."

"Oh." Dorian blushed, if such a thing were possible. "So now you know what a fool I am."

Cullen raised his tankard to the mage in salute. "Aren't we all."


	46. At the Feet of Andraste

_Thanks for reading, all! _

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_3 Wintersend, 9:42_

When she left Cullen on the battlements, Antonia had intended to go back to her room, but suddenly she couldn't face being alone with her dark thoughts and the dread of the future that gripped her. Instead, she turned her steps through the dark gardens and into the Chantry, kneeling at the feet of Andraste.

She was alone there, but she took comfort from the presence of the Maker's Bride. "Holy Mother," she whispered, lighting a candle at the statue's feet. "What was it that you wanted when you left Maferath for the Maker? Did it come true? Was this what you dreamed of?"

Somewhere in her, she thought what she was asking skated awfully close to blasphemy, especially the part where she was in some ways comparing her own situation with that of Andraste … but she hadn't been expecting an answer to her question, anyway, so she hoped she could be forgiven for asking it.

"Do any of us get exactly what we dream of, child?" Mother Giselle had comev quietly from the back of the room to kneel next to her. "Our lives take turns we do not expect, and we have no choice but to adapt. As you did. Surely you never expected to fall from the sky and lead an Inquisition."

"No, I never did," Antonia admitted, sitting back on her heels. "For that matter …" She let the words trail off, not certain how much she wanted to open up to Mother Giselle about the troubles that lay so heavy on her heart right at the moment. The truth was that she had never expected Cullen at all, or anyone like him. She had given herself to her work with the Chantry, putting aside any thought of love or family.

Generally, she passed off those brief years when she was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and passed around on the marriage market as though they had been light, entertaining, and ultimately hadn't touched her … but they had been painful years, in which she had learned how out of step her temperament was when compared to that of other girls her age, how little she truly knew about men and what they wanted, and how completely unsuited she was to be the wife of a Marcher nobleman. Or any nobleman, for that matter.

In the end, she was happier to remain unencumbered than she would have been to marry any of the men she had met, even the ones for whom she had briefly entertained feelings, but that contentment had been hard-won, and cost her many tear-filled nights.

Had Cullen been introduced to her at a ball, she would never have looked at him twice … but by the time she had begun to look at him with the eyes of a woman, she had already come to care for him as friend and mentor.

"The Inquisition has brought you gifts you fear to accept," Mother Giselle said softly.

"No, it's not that. Not really. More … the Inquisition has brought me gifts I want to keep, and I don't know that I can. And opened pitfalls beneath my feet that I didn't know to look for, pitfalls that in other times would be … something else. Certainly not the dangers they are now."

"But you also have guides, do you not, child? People who have helped you see the pitfalls beneath your feet before you stepped into them?"

Antonia glanced at her sharply, wondering if Mother Giselle knew what Roya and Leliana had spoken to her about.

"I know nothing specific about your troubles, if that is your concern. What I do know is the love the Inquisition as a whole bears toward you. There is no one here who would not spare you injury if they could. Because they know that you throw yourself in between them and the danger that threatens us all every day, without thought for your own convenience and happiness. I believe every one of us would want you to embrace the happiness you have today and hope for the best, rather than see you tear your heart over fears of what the future may cost you." Mother Giselle sighed and looked up at Andraste. "She could not have known what was in her future; perhaps had she known, she would have chosen differently. And what a change that would have made for all of us."

"For the better?" Antonia asked. "Or for the worse?"

"We cannot know, because she didn't. Nor do you know how your decisions today affect your future, or ours. The best you can do is to have faith in the Maker, as Andraste did, and go forward in that faith."

Antonia nodded, looking up into the face of the Maker's Bride. Andraste smiled serenely, but Antonia imagined that somewhere in her eyes was the soul of a woman who had struggled as Antonia did now, with the weight of the world against that of her own heart.

Mother Giselle left her there, communing with Andraste, and moved to the back of the Chantry, where someone else had just entered.

Cullen let the door close behind him, surprised to see Antonia kneeling there. Not that Antonia wasn't a believer, but she rarely brought her troubles to the feet of Andraste.

"My son, why don't we walk in the gardens for a few moments?" Mother Giselle suggested.

He nodded, unable to take his eyes off the slender figure in front of the statue. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere with whatever worries Antonia had brought to the Chantry tonight. He had to have faith that when she told him it wasn't him, she had been honest … or that if she hadn't been, she would tell him tomorrow. To his knowledge, she had never yet told him less than the truth.

He left the Chantry quietly with Mother Giselle.

"You have not spent so many of the small hours of the night in the Chantry recently," Mother Giselle observed.

"No." Cullen felt oddly guilty about that, even though the reason was that between the surgeon's powders keeping down the fevers and Antonia adding light to the dark corners of his thoughts, he had actually managed to sleep through more of those small hours than he had been used to doing. "It's been … the answer to a prayer I hadn't known I made," he said softly, thinking of Antonia. It had never occurred to him to ask for Andraste's guidance over his wayward heart.

"Those are the most heartfelt prayers, I find," Mother Giselle said. "It is what the heart wants so deeply yet cannot ask for that She answers, often."

"Does She?" Cullen wanted to believe that. But he couldn't help thinking of all the people—fellow Templars from the Circle and the Gallows, Grand Cleric Elthina and those who had been in the Chantry with her—who had suffered because of what others had wanted. Perhaps it was selfish even to think that Andraste would concern herself with the affairs of his one heart when there were so many greater needs in the world.

"Do you not think that love is important, Commander? Andraste did. She left everything for the love of the Maker, and look at the impact that love has had on the world." Mother Giselle nodded. "While many today blame the Chantry for the unrest we live in right now, the truth is that Andraste was not the one to create those rules, nor was the Maker. People can misinterpret the words of the holy, but She sang of love for one's fellow beings. Perhaps we would all be better off embracing love more and worrying about our intentions—or Hers—less." She smiled. "Or perhaps I am just an old woman who wants to see a brighter day dawning." Patting him on the shoulder, she walked off through the darkened garden.


	47. In the Morning Light

_Happy Tuesday! Thanks so much to all of you for reading and sharing your enthusiasm for this story with me. _

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_4 Wintersend, 9:42_

The sunrise over the mountains the next morning dispelled the last of the shadows from Antonia's mood as she watched it from her balcony. She took a long sip of the steaming hot tea. Even sweetened with honey it didn't taste good, but there was something calming about taking it, knowing that it removed that worry from her life, at least for now.

She had wrestled through most of the night with guilt and longing and sorrow and panic and the sudden, intense desire to throw off all the burdens of the Inquisition and just let the world suffer along without her. But in the morning light she was back to herself again, knowing she had a job to do and willing to do it, believing in the goals the Inquisition had set out to attain.

And she had an important role in those goals. A role that might not be the life of home and family she had glimpsed so briefly yesterday, but it was fulfilling in its own way. Not to mention that it had led her to Cullen, and to Varric and Dorian and the Iron Bull and his Chargers, and all the other people who formed her Inquisition family. They were enough, for now, and if they were all there ever was ... well, they were still more than many people got in a lifetime.

She finished the tea, grimacing at the taste as the dregs flowed over her tongue, and went inside to dress in her training gear.

Outside, she paused on the steps down to the courtyard to watch Cullen, who naturally had gotten there first, in his forms. Long legs, strong arms, all that intensity—he was quite the eyeful. And all hers.

"Enjoying the show?"

She jumped, not having heard Varric come up behind her. "That wasn't nice."

"You shouldn't drool so openly."

"How far would it get me to ask you to mind your own business?"

Varric laughed. "Good try, Herald. Also, I have something for you."

"What?"

"A letter. From South Reach. I'll leave it on your desk, shall I?"

"Yes, please. Any word on your other project?"

"Not yet. Patience, Herald."

"Not my strong suit, Varric."

Varric grinned. "No kidding."

She tossed him a look, and headed down the rest of the stairs. Cullen was just finishing up his forms as she arrived at the edge of the training ring, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off his face and neck.

"No need to stop on my account, Commander," she purred at him, leaning her arms on the fence.

He spun around, apprently not having seen her there, and she felt a pang of guilt at the questioning, almost hesitant look on his face. "How are you this morning, Inquisitor?"

"Much better, thank you."

"Really?"

"Really." She smiled at him to confirm the improvement in her mood, and he came over to stand next to her. His nearness and the scent of him and the way he bent his head near hers had their usual effect on her breathing. "I don't suppose you'd like to go somewhere so I can show you how much better I feel, would you?"

The tips of his ears turned red, his eyes darkening, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid keeping up with such a rapid change in tenor is not a skill I've acquired to date."

"I'm sorry," Antonia said. She'd hated to leave him last night after her uncharacteristic outburst, sure he must be feeling confused, or worse. She reached for his hand—with her right hand this time—and squeezed it. "I wish I could explain, but—" The last thing she wanted to talk to him about right now was babies and a future they probably couldn't have, a future they'd never discussed, and one that was impossible anyway as long as he still wasn't ready to take that last step. "It just ... was too much yesterday. All this." She waved around them. "And you're part of that, and I needed—I just needed some time alone to get it all out of my system."

"Just like that, it's out of your system?"

"Well, no, not entirely, and I can't promise it's not all going to hit me like that again sometime, but mostly ... mark or no mark, if I had wanted to walk away from this, I would have. No one forced me to go meet Corypheus at Haven. I chose to do that; I chose to become the Inquisitor. Every day I wake up, I choose it again, because I believe it's the right thing. Knowing that—it helps."

Cullen's hand shifted to encompass hers. He tipped her chin up with his other hand. "You don't have to do it alone."

"I know."

He kissed her then, firmly, reassuring her and warming her all through, then let her go. "Now. I believe someone mentioned training."

"Someone may have." She sighed at the loss of his touch, but she knew she could have it again later; for today at least he was here and she was here, and that was enough. "And, after training, what do you say we put our heads together and figure out how to get back at Sera for what she did to your desk?"

Cullen turned around sharply, his eyes narrowed. "And who said she did anything to my desk?"

"Um … you did," Antonia said hastily, but not quite quickly enough.

He came back toward her, looming over her. "So you were there. I was told as much, but I couldn't believe you, the Inquisitor, would stoop so low." His voice was low and dangerous, but there was a twinkle in his eye that he couldn't quite hide. "Tell me what she did."

Even half in jest, his commanding attitude in addition to the way his shirt clung to his chest after his exertions made him the sexiest thing Antonia had ever seen in all her life. She swayed toward him, breathless. "What's in it for me?"

From the look on his face, she expected him to kiss her again. She wanted him to kiss her again, could practically taste it. But he remembered where they were—and who they were—in time to step back. Antonia couldn't quite hold back an audible whimper of disappointment, and Cullen licked his lower lip at the sound, which only made her hungrier.

He stepped back, picking up his practice sword. "You are a temptress of the first order," he said huskily.

"Apparently not a successful one." Antonia pouted a little, and Cullen grinned at her.

"We'll see about that later. For now, we spar. If I win, you tell me what she did. If you win, you can help me determine how best to retaliate."

"I hope you're prepared to be bested, Commander."

"Fine talk, Inquisitor. Let's see if you can back it up."

Antonia took up the practice sword and entered the ring.

Her training session ended in a draw, and a brief but passionate kiss in his office after she helped him remove the sliver of wood from under his desk, with promises of a serious discussion of revenge against Sera later. Antonia had breakfast and a long bath, did some glad-handing with the nobles who were visiting, and had a brief chat with Scout Harding, who was in Skyhold between missions. Finally she had a moment to sit down at her desk and open the letter from Cullen's sister.

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_Your kind invitation received. We are understandably relieved to hear good news about Cullen—you may know he's not a particularly devoted correspondent. It will certainly be our honor to visit Skyhold and our pleasure to see Cullen at long last. It has been much, much too long. Your generosity in extending the invitation is appreciated._

_You may expect four adults and two children; I trust that will not tax the resources of Skyhold unduly. We look forward to meeting you._

_ Yours,_

_ Mia Rutherford Chaffee_

Antonia smiled, imagining what Cullen would say, how he would look, when his sister and the rest of his family came to visit. From her letter, his sister appeared to be a rather blunt, forthright type, and Antonia looked forward to meeting her.

Wintersend was still a good month away, however, and in the meantime, there was Empress Celene's ball at the Winter Palace coming up, and an assassination plot to foil. Antonia could feel her pulse speeding up, although whether that was more to do with nervousness over the delicate task ahead of her or excitement at the prospect of dancing with Cullen at a proper ball, she wasn't entirely sure.

Either way, she thought, getting up and wandering to her balcony again, looking out over her beloved mountains, she looked forward to getting on with it. Her life might not be exactly what she had once envisioned ... but it was never dull.


	48. You Two

_Happy Friday! Thanks to all of you for reading - you all, and these two, always send me into the weekend with a smile on my face._

* * *

_9 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia hurried to catch up to Cullen as he was opening the door to Josephine's office. He paused, holding it open and smiling at her. "Good afternoon, Inquisitor."

Maker, she loved the way his voice caressed the syllables of her title. "Commander," she replied in the same tone. "I trust you're on your way to the War Room."

"As always." He closed the door behind them, his tone changing as he went on, "It occurs to me, actually, that we really ought to vary the timing of these meetings. Anyone in Skyhold could figure out where all four of us are going to be at this hour of any given afternoon."

"It's a good point," Antonia agreed, "but how are you going to manage changing up the time and still finding an open space in all our schedules? I suppose we could switch to sometime in the middle of the night, but then, some of us sleep occasionally."

"Careless of you," he said lightly, and she warmed to hear him able to make a joke of it. Between his determination to put away the temptation of the box of lyrium, her support, and the surgeon's powders against the fever, he seemed to be holding his own in the struggle with the withdrawal, and Antonia thanked the Maker for that. "I suppose you're right." He held open the next door, leading to the long hall between Josephine's office and the War Room, letting Antonia precede him through it. "The schedules would be difficult to manage. But it still bothers me that we're so predictable."

"You want to talk predictable, there's our nightly trips to the battlements." She grinned. "We could change those up, too."

"What did you have in mind?" His voice had gone all husky and he had stopped in the middle of the hall to look down at her.

"Do you really want to know?" Antonia winked at him, and Cullen cleared his throat.

"You are a wicked tease. You know that, don't you?"

"It's only teasing if you have no intention of following through," she pointed out. "So which one of us does that make the tease, hm?"

"There are intentions," he protested. "It's a ... long-range plan."

"Plans, now? Oh, that's romantic."

"Children! Are we starting this meeting?" Leliana called. She stood in the door of the War Room, tapping her foot impatiently, but her eyes were twinkling.

"Coming, Mother," Antonia said. She flashed Leliana a grin.

"Some days you make me feel like your mother. Poor Wynne—she was the mage who was with us during the Blight. I wish I could go back and apologize to her, now that I know how she must have felt." Leliana closed the door behind them.

"I remember Wynne," Cullen said. "She looked like somebody's sweet old grandmother, but she was scary."

"You have no idea."

"Ah, there you are." Josephine looked up from her portable desk. "I have a few things here you're going to want to look at."

And they were all business for a while, until they had gotten through all the new items on the list and reallocated resources where they were needed. Then, hitching her hip on the edge of the War Table and crossing her arms, Leliana said, "I think we need to talk about the Empress's ball. Inquisitor, Josie and I have been discussing clothing."

Antonia nodded. "Yes, I think we should. I don't have anything suitable for the Winter Palace."

Cullen tipped his head back, staring ostentatiously at the ceiling. "Do you ladies really need me for this?"

"Actually, yes, because what we decided was that all of us will wear formal uniforms."

Antonia felt a somewhat surprising sinking feeling in her stomach. She hadn't realized until just now how much she had looked forward to dressing up in a beautiful gown and feeling feminine and pretty ... especially knowing that Cullen would be there to see it. "Would you mind explaining your reasoning?" she asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Josephine had heard it anyway, she could tell, because the ambassador smiled at her knowingly. "If we attempt to dress in Celene's grand style, it could place an undue strain on the coffers of the Inquisition, especially depending on who accompanies us."

"Varric," Leliana said.

"Exactly. And then, if we attempt to match the Orlesian styles and we make the smallest misstep, that makes us look inept, so we would be coming in to the situation already at a disadvantage."

"Not to mention," Cullen said, "if I may be practical for a moment, we don't know what we'll face. I, for one, would prefer not to have half our party hampered by impractical skirts and shoes, and a lack of weaponry, should there be fighting." He met Leliana's amused glance with a rather belligerent one of his own. "We're there to prevent an assassination. Best to be prepared for some type of fighting."

"Actually, that's a good point." Josephine sighed. "I had the perfect dress, but this is a better solution. We will all look like one unit, as well as sending an unmistakable message that the Inquisition is serious."

"Well, it sounds like you have a plan, then. I really can't argue with your logic ... and certainly not having to worry about wasting time with a dressmaker will be a nice benefit. I assume we're having the uniforms made up here?"

"Of course," Leliana said. "All we need to know is who you intend to bring, so that we can measure them properly."

"Well, Cassandra, of course. And Varric." She thought for a moment, then grinned. "And Dorian."

"Not Vivienne?" Josephine asked.

"Vivienne is too involved in the Orlesian court herself. I wouldn't want her own affairs to be a ... distraction."

Cullen nodded approvingly. "Is that all, then?" he asked, preparing to get up.

"Not quite." Leliana looked pointedly at Cullen and then at Antonia. "You two."

They glanced at each other, mystified, and back at her.

"For the purposes of the ball, we need you both at your most charming ... and your most unencumbered."

Cullen groaned.

"Yes, Cullen. Perhaps you are not aware that you are a particularly fine ... asset to the cause? You will make quite the impression on the ladies," Josephine said.

"And some of the men," Leliana added. Neither of them was joking.

"And our dear Inquisitor here may also need to charm some of those in attendance. If you two are ... your normal selves, we will miss some opportunities that we need to be able to take advantage of."

"Our normal selves?" Antonia asked.

"You know exactly what we mean," Leliana said. "No kissing, no touching."

"Don't even look at each other," Josephine put in.

Cullen and Antonia looked at each other. "They have a point," she said helplessly.

"What, this mission depends on my ability to flirt with random young noblewomen?" Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "You know that means we're doomed, right?"

"Perhaps not to flirt, precisely," Leliana said, "but at the very least, to appear to be available to be flirted with."

"I hate this plan," he grumbled.

Antonia thoroughly agreed. "Look at it this way," she offered. "It'll be a good incentive not to stay in Val Royeaux."

Cullen groaned. "Some of us didn't need any incentives. Come on." He reached for Antonia's hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Making up for lost time."

"But we haven't lost it yet."

"All the better."


	49. Nobility

_Thank you for reading! I appreciate it._

* * *

_11 Wintersend, 9:42_

Cullen was enjoying this trip to Val Royeaux even less than he had expected to—and his expectations had never been very high. He had a strong distaste for Orlais and Orlesians and their infernal Game. Knowing that Antonia was going to be walking head-first into the lion's den and he had no way to stop it or to protect her from whatever plans Corypheus and his assassin might have for her made it even worse.

And now he wasn't even allowed to touch her to reassure himself. Not that he disagreed, necessarily. He trusted Leliana and Josephine in this, their sphere of work, as he would expect them to trust him if they were on the battlefield. And it made sense that they would need all the members of their party to be able to keep their ears and eyes open and use whatever tools were at their disposal.

Still. He had come to count on the touches, the kisses, the glances between them as reminders that she was real, that _they_ were real. "This is going to be horrible," he muttered to Antonia, who was riding beside him.

"Which part?" she asked. "The uniforms, the dancing, the flirting, or—"

He looked at her, deliberately running his gaze up and down her body.

"Oh, that." She grinned. "Maybe it'll be good for you."

"How is that?"

Antonia gave him a slow wink that did nothing for his intention to comply with Leliana's orders. "Inspirational."

"Hm."

"Cullen, can I ask you a question?"

"Always."

"Do you remember the day you kissed me on the battlements? The first time," she clarified, when he gave her a sidelong look to remind her of the many, many times he had kissed her on the battlements.

"Could I forget?" Cullen could still remember the disbelief and the dawning joy of that moment when he first understood that maybe it was possible after all, as if it had been yesterday.

"How long had you wanted to do that?"

He laughed. "Longer than I should admit."

"How long was that?"

"The first time I ever thought about kissing you? It was on the training grounds, in Haven. You looked up at me, and—" He shivered. "I thought it was ... ridiculous of me to even think such a thing. I never would have imagined, not in a thousand ages."

Antonia reached for his hand, then drew hers back, remembering their orders. "So, when you said you 'couldn't say you hadn't wondered what it would be like'," aping his accent, "what was that, the understatement of the age?"

He chuckled. "Something like that. What was I going to say, that you were all I'd been able to think about for months on end?" Some part of Cullen couldn't believe he was admitting all these things out loud so casually ... but then, she knew, of course she did, and that she loved hearing it was equally evident from the smile on her face.

"I wouldn't have minded that at all."

"How long had _you _been thinking of it?"

"Haven. Training grounds. It might even have been the same moment. But I thought—I thought ... by the time I was sure it was mutual, I was the Inquisitor, and I didn't know if it was right for me to try to have my own life."

"What changed your mind?"

She looked over at him, almost shyly. "I ... couldn't not think about you."

"Antonia ..." He reined his horse nearer to hers, leaning over to kiss her.

Varric glanced back at them over his shoulder. "Isn't that a no-no? I ask only because I find this whole situation very amusing."

"He's not the only one," Dorian called from farther ahead.

"I hate you both, and next time we're camping, I'm going to put scorpions in your beds," Antonia said.

There was a quiet moment when it seemed to Cullen that all three of them were waiting for the Iron Bull to join in. Cassandra, however, was at the head of the group in deep conversation with Josephine, and the silence went unfilled. Varric spurred his horse to ride closer to Dorian, whose shoulders had drooped just a bit. Cullen could see that the mage was no closer to being comfortable with what he considered his foolishness.

But the moment had passed, and he remembered his promise and steered his horse farther away from Antonia's. It was going to be such a very long journey if he was already obsessed with having her in his arms again and they were barely out of the mountains. "Sodding nobles," he grumbled.

"Nobles?"

"Yes. If it wasn't for all the Orlesian nobles and their intrigues, none of this would be happening."

Antonia gave him an odd look. "Sometimes I forget how little patience you have for nobility. I'm glad my title didn't scare you off."

Her title? Oh, Maker's breath, she had a title. She was nobility. How was it that he forgot that so often? "I hadn't considered—I have no title outside the Inquisition," he said, rather stiffly, suddenly worried about her thoughts on the topic. What if it was an issue for her, going forward? Someday the Inquisition would end—would an ex-Templar be good enough for the daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick? "I hope that doesn't—" He caught himself. He didn't want to put words in her mouth—he wanted to know what she actually thought. "I mean ... _does_ it bother you?"

Antonia tilted her head, looking at him inquisitively. "Why would it?"

"I don't know. I thought perhaps—" Cullen stopped. He wanted to tell her about all the dreams he couldn't seem to stop himself from having, of the future he so wanted to have with her once this was all over, of his fears that somehow she didn't want that same future, but it was a terrible time for that, when they were about to go off into the viper's nest and have to pretend to feel nothing for one another. "I'm overthinking this," he said eventually.

"Well, stop. There's no need."

"I'm not very good at this, am I?" Cullen said softly. "I told you I wouldn't be."

"Cullen, I don't even know why you would wonder about that; as though anything about me said that I cared about someone's title. Sometimes ..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

He took a long breath, trying to find the words to explain to her how new and unexpected and still unbelievable this was for him. "If I seem unsure, that's because ... it's been a long time since I've wanted _anyone_ in my life. I wasn't expecting to find that here. Or you."

"I understand that. I wasn't looking for—" She waved a hand between them. "This, either." She looked down at her gloved hands on the reins. "I've told you before that my parents briefly shopped me around on the marriage market, and … I may have led you to believe that was—easy. That my rejection of that life was my own choice; or that I was okay with the fact that it wasn't my choice. The truth is … it was very difficult. For all that I'd been raised to devote myself to the Chantry, I was still a girl. I wanted to fall in love—well, in truth, what I wanted then was to be fallen in love with, to be cared for."

Cullen watched her, not interrupting. It was evident that this wasn't something she was comfortable talking about. She said so little about her own life, and shared so few of her deeper feelings, that he was almost afraid to breathe in case that should distract her and cost him this chance to learn more about her.

"There were … I was a fool," she said with a hint of bitterness. "More than once. And that put me off the idea that I should expect … anything. I never thought—that something like this could …" Antonia looked up at him with a wonder in her brown eyes he had never seen there before. But before he could say anything she blinked and the look was gone, and in a different tone she said, "But I'm happy we have it." She looked ahead, clearly not as fine as she'd like him to believe

Cullen watched her as they rode. Had they been anywhere else, he would have been holding her right now, trying to help her forget whatever had happened to make her doubt herself that way. It had never occurred to him that she might—she carried herself with such confidence. The only thing he had ever heard her say about herself that was at all negative was her disparagement of her own age and experience, and that was understandable, given the situation she found herself in.

He felt—something larger than he had ever felt before, so many things at once that he didn't know where one began and the other ended. He wanted to comfort her, to protect her, to go back to whoever had hurt her and make them suffer for it, to kiss away her hurts, to make her promises … The sheer volume of emotion was overwhelming. For the first time, Cullen wanted to tell her that he loved her, because for the first time he was sure he understood what that meant.

But her thoughts had been somewhere else, because there was a sadness in her eyes now as she looked up at him. "So … it bothers me that you would think even for a minute that it matters to me whether you have a title or not. Sometimes … sometimes it seems like you just go looking for reasons not to trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust," he said, wanting her to understand. "It's the universe, which has a bad habit of falling down around my ears at regular intervals. And this time, if it goes, it seems likely to take you with it, and I don't know if—that already happened once and I barely survived it. You barely survived it. Next time ..." He wanted to say it all. He wanted to tell her he loved her, he needed her, he didn't know what he would do if the next time she faced Corypheus he lost her, and he was afraid of how much he was coming to depend on her being there, and that was why he kept throwing up obstacles, to protect the last few pieces of his heart that might actually remain whole if something went wrong between them. But this was hardly the time for that conversation.

He changed the subject to a book they had both read recently, and Antonia seemed glad for the change in topic, and in tone and intensity.

But as they rode and chatted, Cullen made a decision. When they got back to Skyhold, after this damnable ball, he would tell her, everything he felt and everything he wanted, and if she didn't feel the same way he did, then at least he would know.


	50. Ridiculous

_Happy Friday! My thanks to all of you for reading. I really couldn't help taking a shot at those ridiculous uniforms!  
_

* * *

_13 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia looked in the mirror with dissatisfaction. While she yielded to the logic of Josephine and Leliana's decision, this uniform did nothing for her. With her short hair and narrow build, she looked vaguely masculine, and the uniform wasn't tailored to her frame as well as it might have been, leaving her looking bulky in all the wrong places. She had taken care with her makeup, but that only went so far. She reminded herself that this was a working ball, and it didn't matter if she didn't look pretty ... but she'd be in a ballroom with a number of women whose job was to be beautiful and feminine and attractive. And so would Cullen.

"Argh," she said softly to the Antonia in the mirror, who appeared to agree with that assessment. There was nothing for it, though—Leliana had timed their entrance precisely, so she had to go right now.

In the foyer, Antonia was perversely pleased to see that the uniform didn't do much for Josephine, either, fitting the ambassador's curves as awkwardly as it fit Antonia's angles. And Varric looked downright silly. Dorian carried it off with panache, as he did everything he wore, and Cassandra was suited to the severe look and appeared almost comfortable. Leliana, when she entered the room, seemed to have used a different tailor, because the uniform actually seemed to accentuate her curves. Or perhaps that was an effect of the unusual sparkle in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks. This was Leliana's element, and she looked it.

Although right now what she mostly looked was irritated, as they were all waiting for Cullen. Just as she was about to go upstairs, he appeared through the front door.

"Are you all ready? I've been checking the carriages; all seems to be in order." All eyes turned to him, and Antonia's jaw dropped. "What?" he said, faintly defensively. "Yes, I know, the jacket's too tight, and I look ridiculous. Must you all stare?"

"Ridiculous?" Antonia said faintly. "Oh, yes, that's the word I was going for. Josephine, would you have said ridiculous?"

"Oh, absolutely. Ridiculous. So ridiculous women will be fainting in the aisles." Josephine fanned herself.

He looked bloody gorgeous, was how he looked. His uniform was tailored just a shade too tight to be impeccable, but tight in all the right places—across the shoulders, and around the curve of his rear end, and along his muscular legs, making him look even bigger and more powerfully built than he was. His natural military bearing only increased the impression. Antonia had to tip her hat to Leliana, who had to be behind this. Cullen would draw the eye of women used to the effete fops of Orlais like a brilliant flower drew bees.

Antonia wanted to kill them all already.

Meanwhile, Cullen was looking at her and at Josephine like they were crazy.

"My dear Commander," Dorian said, ogling in his turn, "you actually meant the word 'ridiculous', in its standard definition. I believe what the ladies mean by 'ridiculous' is that the women at the ball are going to want to rip that uniform right off you. With their teeth. Don't you think so, Antonia dear?"

"Something like that, Dorian, my sweet," she bit off. This was going to be an exceptionally long night.

"Oh." Cullen wasn't entirely sure how to take that, she could tell, but there was a certain lift to his shoulders that said he didn't mind the attention.

"And you will be charming, won't you, Cullen?" Leliana said.

"As charming as I can be, Leliana. I promise."

She looked him up and down. "Or you could simply stand there and not talk. That might work, too."

He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, avoiding Antonia's eyes altogether. "I really am not going to enjoy this, am I?"

"We are not here for enjoyment," Cassandra snapped. "Can we go?"

"Indeed."

Leliana led the way, taking Josephine and Antonia and Cassandra in her carriage and leaving the three men to come after them. Neatly keeping Antonia away from Cullen in the process, which was probably a good idea, Antonia had to admit, because she would have been strongly tempted to attack him right there in the carriage.

They were an instant sensation at the Winter Palace, everyone staring at them as they came in. Duke Gaspard, who was attempting to wrest the throne from Empress Celene, was particularly attentive to Antonia, and she found him amusing, so a modest bit of flirting was easy. She was glad to see that the years she had spent at these types of events in the Free Marches hadn't been wasted—she was able to slip back into the role of Bann Trevelyan's daughter without too much trouble, with the added fillip of the authority of the Inquisition behind her.

She entered the ballroom on the Duke's arm, making a commotion amongst the assemblage. And then came the interminable introductions, although she had to admit that they all sounded quite impressive. She was glad she had brought the people she had—there were gasps and whispers at each fresh name, and together they made the Inquisition sound both Thedas-wide and quite powerful.

Celene made a gracious speech, and then it was off to the real business of the ball—the Game. Antonia didn't expect to excel at the Game, but then, no one else really expected her to, either, so anything she did in that line was likely to pay off.

She made her rounds dutifully, listening more than she talked. It was what she was good at, listening to people, but here there was so much being said that wasn't actually said ... it was exhausting. And the sheer number of intrigues! Antonia hoped Leliana was on top of things, because she herself felt utterly lost in a sea of glittering masks and hidden faces.


	51. Attention

_Thanks for reading!  
_

* * *

_13 Wintersend, 9:42_

So far, it seemed to be going well, Antonia thought, looking around the ballroom. She could sense the approval of the room, and everyone was exerting themselves to be their most charming. Even Cullen, who was surrounded by a bevy of Orlesian beauties of both genders. She imagined that to the casual observer, he looked as though he was enjoying himself, but she knew better. Which was all that was keeping her from going over and forcefully dispersing said bevy.

Well, that … and professionalism ... and knowing that Leliana would kill her.

Leliana was nowhere in sight, and Antonia should know—she had been all over the Winter Palace by this point, finding all the secrets she could, although she didn't feel any closer to an answer as to who was most likely to be trying to assassinate the Empress. She had met the "arcane advisor" Leliana had hinted so darkly about. The Lady Morrigan, of all people. No wonder Leliana hadn't been happy—having met Morrigan, Antonia couldn't imagine that she and Leliana had gotten along very well at all during the Blight.

The dancing was beginning inside the ballroom. Antonia allowed herself to be partnered by Duke Gaspard for the first dance, and then by the Nevarran ambassador, a distant cousin of Cassandra's, for the next. The third she begged off on the grounds that she was parched and wanted a drink. She did, too, but wasn't about to have one here. She took a fluted glass of champagne from a passing tray and pretended to sip at it, but eventually tipped about half of it into the nearest table decoration. Poison was a cheap and easy way to get rid of someone, especially someone like a pesky Inquisitor who might get in the way. Best to eat and drink as little as possible.

As she stood watching the dancing, she felt a presence next to her—the familiar heat of an equally familiar body.

"You shouldn't drink that," he said quietly.

"I'm not. And you're not supposed to be talking to me," she reminded him.

"I thought I would report in."

"Ah. Good idea. Anything of note?"

"I've been keeping my eyes open, but so far nothing unusual has caught my notice. It would be easier if people would stop talking to me. Other people, that is."

Antonia smiled. "You seem very comfortable. And you've attracted quite the following. Who are all those people?"

"I don't know, but they won't leave me alone."

"Not enjoying the attention then?" She said it lightly, but she was burning with jealousy. Unnecessary jealousy, she reminded herself, but jealousy nonetheless.

"Hardly. Anyway, yours—" He caught himself, remembering their orders, and then softly finished the thought anyway. "Yours is the only attention worth having."

Antonia bit down on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to avoid looking the way his words and tone made her feel. "Likewise, Commander." She needed to keep moving, but she couldn't help the next question. "I don't suppose you'd save me a dance?"

"No, thank you," Cullen said, rather coolly.

"Oh."

"No! I didn't mean to— Oh, Maker's breath. I've answered that question so many times I'm rejecting it automatically." He shifted just the tiniest bit closer to her. Antonia could almost feel his breath on her ear as he leaned in to explain, and it made her want to turn and throw herself into his arms and forget about all the damned politics and intrigues. "I'm not one for dancing," he explained. "The Templars never attended balls."

For a moment, Antonia had a vision of lines of bucket-helmeted figures moving in the stately figures of a formal dance; she wasn't certain if the image was amusing or disturbing. "Your fans will be disappointed."

"Yes, well, I fail to see how my stepping on some duchess's foot would aid the Inquisition," Cullen said tartly.

"Oh, Commander!" came a giggling voice, and with an abrupt nod Antonia moved away from him. But not fast enough, because she could hear the giggling voice saying, "Is that the Inquisitor? Do you think she's pretty?"

She wanted to stop and hear Cullen's reply, but she had already trespassed on Leliana's orders enough for one night. Besides, she told herself sternly, she knew perfectly well that Cullen thought she was pretty; there was no need to get all fluttery about it just because they were at a ball at which she looked so much less feminine than most of the other women in attendance.

And there was still much to be done. Across the room, she saw the Grand Duchess Florianne, Duke Gaspard's sister and the Empress's cousin. Something about Florianne felt off to Antonia; she wanted to speak with the other woman, to find out what she knew. She moved across the room, putting her mind back on the business at hand.


	52. This Dance

_Oh, these two. They make me happy - I hope you all enjoy them, too. Thanks for reading! _

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_13 Wintersend, 9:42_

Cullen had enjoyed the evening even less than he had expected to. Not only had he been forced to spend it making charming small talk with any number of vapid women, and in an extremely uncomfortable uniform at that, but he had had to watch Antonia disappear into the depths of the Winter Palace several times without knowing where she was going, or who might try to kill her there.

That she had handily uncovered the plot against the Empress's life, evaded the trap set for her by Grand Duchess Florianne, and exposed Florianne's complicity with Corypheus in a way the duchess had not been able to deny, and done it all with a panache that made her the darling of the Imperial Court didn't surprise him in the least—Antonia was extraordinary, after all. And he didn't begrudge her having done it all on her own, with Dorian and Varric in attendance as always, and Cassandra's able assistance. He simply resented having had his own skills wasted when they could have been put to so much better use at her side.

It all had Cullen feeling unsettled and off-kilter, this standing around and talking that was so much more anyone else's bailiwick other than his own. Even Cassandra was more comfortable in these circumstances than he was.

Of course, Cassandra was royalty. Josephine, Antonia, and Dorian were nobility. Varric was from the rich merchant class, much as he tried to pretend otherwise. Leliana had not grown up privileged, but her bard training meant this was her element. Cullen was the sole representative of the common man the Inquisition had brought to this affair, and so it was no wonder, he told himself, that he felt the least comfortable in this environment. Not that that made him any happier.

And now, the most concerning part of all was that after her exposure of Florianne, and a private conversation with the Empress following that, Antonia had disappeared. He was trying not to be anxious about it, as he knew that said as much about his frame of mind as it did the potential danger to her, but the partygoers were revelling in her name, toasting her and Andraste, feasting to their hearts' content. She was missing a great celebration in her honor—which Cullen understood, but at the same time, typically Antonia's commitment to the Inquisition would have had her there, smiling and nodding, at least. He tried to make the rounds himself, but it was even harder to keep his mind on the insipid conversations now than it had been earlier.

Leliana found him as he was trying to keep his mind on a conversation about Varric's latest book with a young lady whose pronunciation of "Donnen Brennokovic" was the most amusing thing about her. "Pardon me, Lady Fiorette. It seems I need to borrow our commander for a moment."

Fiorette pouted. "Are you certain? I could return him to your lodgings later. It would be no trouble."

"Thank you, my lady," he said, hoping this was the last time this evening he had to feign a politeness he did not feel, "but I regret that my duties to the Inquisition take precedence over ... all other inclinations."

She pouted again, but gave him her hand. He kissed it gingerly and then he was blissfully free to go away with Leliana.

"Don't ever make me do that again."

Leliana laughed. "But you did it so well! I was quite proud of you. And you could have made any number of conquests."

He settled for raising his eyebrows to indicate how little he cared. As far as he was concerned, the only conquest that mattered was the one Antonia had made of him, but he wasn't about to say that aloud, even to Leliana.

"And speaking of conquests ... I believe yours is on the balcony, just up those stairs. She has had a long evening, and far exceeded everything that was expected of her. Perhaps what she needs now is some ... support."

Cullen could feel his heartrate speed up. He hadn't imagined that a few days without holding Antonia, or kissing her, could feel so interminable, but they certainly had. How quickly a dream he had never expected to come true had become a reality he couldn't do without.

"Give her a moment, however," Leliana said in a different tone. "I believe she is having a conversation she will want to finish." She sighed. "The past, Cullen—it never entirely goes away. Our ghosts come back to haunt us when we least expect them." And with that cryptic comment, she turned away.

Cullen watched her go. He wasn't certain what Leliana had meant about the ghosts, but there was time to find out the details later. For now, he concentrated on taking the stairs one at a time instead of leaping up them in twos and threes the way he wished to do.

As he neared the balcony, a beautiful woman in a rather overdone ballgown, at least to Cullen's admittedly untrained eye, exited. She looked him up and down, not the way women had been doing all night, but more as one would examine a bug under a microscope, or possibly a stud horse. Whichever way she meant it, Cullen didn't like it. She looked remarkably familiar, but he couldn't quite place her.

He put her out of his mind, his heart leaping as he saw Antonia leaning on the balcony rail. "There you are! Everyone's been looking for you." He leaned on the railing next to her, feeling happier just to be standing here with her. "Everything has calmed down for the moment. Well, not the party so much, but at least the intrigues. Apparently it is difficult to play the Game properly with your mouth full of food." He turned to look at her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked drawn and wearied. "Are you all right?"

"Do you know who that was?" Antonia asked.

"The woman? No."

"That was Morrigan. From the Blight."

Now he remembered—she had been at the Circle tower with Thomas and Leliana when they saved him. "Of course! That's where I've seen her before. She wore fewer clothes during the Blight." Cullen looked over his shoulder in the direction Morrigan had gone. "No wonder Leliana seemed less than pleased."

"She may already know what I've just discovered—that Morrigan is Orlais' official liaison to the Inquisition."

"That could be good; she's a powerful mage with a great deal of knowledge most people don't possess."

"Who would have believed you would be happy about the addition of a powerful mage to our little Inquisition family?" Antonia smiled.

"Any weapon we can wield against Corypheus has my support," he said fervently. "And we've struck another blow at his plans by foiling the plot against Celene. You were very impressive tonight, you know. The way you faced down Florianne—style as well as courage."

Antonia shook her head. "I'm not certain I feel very impressive. " She shook her head. "I'm sorry; I'm just worn out. Tonight has been ... very long."

"For all of us. I know I'm glad it's over." Cullen smiled, trying to make a joke of his own ordeal, but Antonia didn't smile in return. He reached out, stroking her arm. "I know it's foolish, but I was worried for you tonight."

At that, the corner of her mouth quirked a little, and she covered his hand with her own, briefly. "Not foolish; Florianne had a rift in the Fade, and archers. I wasn't supposed to reappear in the ballroom. Thank the Maker for Dorian and Varric and Cassandra."

A chill made its way through him. He'd had no idea he had come that close to losing her. "I wish I could have been there fighting on your behalf. Next time I will be," Cullen added with determination. He couldn't keep standing around and letting her go into danger without him.

"Hopefully next time you'll have an army at your back, the way it ought to be."

From the ballroom, Cullen could hear the distant sound of applause, and then the notes of a new song beginning. Perhaps there was something he could do to help ease the strain of her evening. "You know, we might never get another chance, so I have to ask." Antonia turned to him, her eyebrows lifted questioningly, and he bent at the waist, offering her his hand. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Now her eyes warmed, and she put her small, strong hand in his. "Of course. But I thought you said you didn't dance?"

"In public, with strangers, definitely not. But alone, and with you? I'll try." There were no words to describe how good it felt to have her in his arms again, to have her delicate face turned up to his. It was almost worth him stepping on her foot at the first turn, and stumbling on the second.

"Cullen," she said.

"What?"

"You're overthinking. Dancing isn't a chess game."

"A shame, too. I'm good at chess."

At that, she did smile. "I think you could learn to enjoy dancing just as much."

"With the right partner?"

"Exactly."

He looked down into her bright brown eyes and the world fell away. Nothing mattered except this moment with this woman. He lost himself in the music and the way her body moved with his, so perfectly.

Eventually he realized they were no longer dancing, merely swaying in time to the beat of the music. He had brought the hand he was holding in his to his chest, and his other arm was tight around her waist, holding her against him. Antonia's eyes were liquid soft, wide and starry, and he felt—he couldn't even say what he felt, except that it was a moment unlike any he had ever experienced before. "Antonia, I—" He caught himself. This wasn't the time for those words. He had never told a woman he loved her before; had, in fact, only ever thought he was in love once before, and that had been a pale shadow compared to the richness and depth of what he felt now. But the fear that had had him second-guessing himself so often before was still there, dark shadows in his heart and mind that had yet to be dispelled. Instead, he said, "I never want to let you go."

She raised on her toes, her free hand curving around the back of his neck. "Please don't," she breathed, just before her lips met his.

It was a slow, sweet kiss, as Cullen tried to tell her without words everything that she made him feel. Did she know how he had meant those words? That he wanted her for his own, to have and to hold for the rest of his life?

He would have to tell her, later, in no uncertain terms. For now, as the kiss ended and she laid her head against his shoulder with a trusting sigh, this was all he needed.


	53. With You

_My apologies for the unscheduled hiatus last week. I'm hoping to maintain my regular posting schedule through the summer, but there may be a few hiccups along the way, and I'll do my best to point those out in advance when I can. This chapter, I think you'll be pleased to know, is NSFW. Thanks to all of you for reading!_

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_16 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia paced the battlements restlessly. It was past sunset, and it was their first night back from Val Royeaux, so she had been looking forward to meeting Cullen all day. It was no overstatement to say that she ached for his touch.

She had heard at dinner about a small battle with Red Templars in an Orlesian outpost near Emprise-du-Lion, so she imagined dealing with that was what was keeping Cullen, and she felt no small amount of guilt that she hadn't yet managed to deal with the situation in Emprise better.

Still, there wasn't much to be done with the sun down; a relief expedition couldn't leave until daylight. The mountain roads were too dangerous to be attempted in the dark.

Antonia decided at last to go to Cullen's office and see what was keeping him. Anything was better than standing here in the cold wind. Someday, she kept hoping she would learn to curb her impatience, but it appeared today was not going to be that day.

She slipped in the side door, unnoticed among all the soldiers standing in the room, and leaned against the wall out of the way to avoid drawing attention to herself. It was rare that she got to see Cullen in action without being part of it herself, so she didn't mind watching for a few minutes.

"Rylen's men will monitor the situation," he was saying.

He took a dispatch from someone, looking it over quickly as one of the soldiers said, "Yes, ser. We'll begin preparations at once."

Cullen looked up from the dispatch. "In the meantime, we'll send men to ..." His eyes found Antonia standing there, and she couldn't help the little smile that came to her lips. It must have told him exactly what she was thinking, because his words faltered. He cleared his throat. "To, uh, monitor the situation. That will be all," he finished, a similar smile playing across his features as he shooed everyone out. He shut the door behind the soldiers, pressing it closed with both hands, then leaned against it, his shoulders slumping with weariness. "There's always something more, isn't there?"

"Wishing we were somewhere else?" Antonia asked.

He laughed a little. "Possibly. But I barely found time to get away before, and our little jaunt to Val Royeaux last week has left things ... chaotic." Cullen sighed, pushing himself off the door, crossing the room toward his desk. "This war won't last forever." He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. "When it started, I hadn't thought much beyond our survival. But things are different now."

Antonia pushed herself off the wall, moving toward him. "What do you mean?"

"I find myself wondering what will happen after. When this is over, I won't want to move on." He reached out, stroking her cheek. "Not from you." A shadow crossed his face, and his eyes fell. "But I—I don't know what you—That is, _if_ you ... ah ..." He trailed off, turning away from her, bracing his hands on his desk and staring down at the dark wood, unable to complete the thought.

Antonia felt entirely the wrong sort of quiver in her stomach. It was the same one she had felt earlier today when she'd been arguing with the Revered Mother who wanted to take Leliana and Cassandra away to the new Conclave, and possibly to make one of them Divine. Everyone else seemed to see Halamshiral as a great victory, one that made them want to think of the future. Antonia, on the other hand, didn't see herself as having gotten any closer to a future after it—she saw herself as closer to the eventual showdown with Corypheus, yes, but that wasn't the same thing. Not to her.

But Cullen had censored himself so often in their time together that she could follow his thought processes and feel the fear in him, even now; he still wasn't sure that she felt what he felt. Antonia knew perfectly well that for him it wasn't as much about the actual future as it was about her intentions, about what she wanted. And there, at least, she had no qualms—she knew what she wanted, even if she didn't think she could have it. But that was a conversation for another day.

"Cullen," she said softly, sidling herself between him and the desk. "Do you really need to ask? Whatever future I have, I want it to be with you. Don't you know that?"

He smiled, his eyes lighting with relief. "I suppose I do. I just ... wanted to hear you say it." He bent over her. "Antonia. I want—"

As Antonia leaned back on his desk, her hand brushed a bottle, which fell off and smashed on the floor. She gasped, looking up at Cullen, ready to apologize, but his eyes were on hers with an intensity that had her heart pounding, the words frozen on her lips. He gave a single, decisive sweep of his arm, clearing the desk, unconcerned as to where things might fall.

As the flurry of papers settled around them, Antonia managed to control her breathing enough to say, "You're sure? Everything?"

For answer, his hands went to the buckles of his breastplate. It hit the floor, along with the fur-collared robe, and his shirt fluttered down on top of it, as Antonia hastily unlaced her boots and kicked them off. Then she was lying back on the desk and Cullen's weight was deliciously warm on top of her. She cupped his face in her hands, pulling his head down to kiss him.

What started off slow heated quickly, Cullen's hands going to the buttons of her jacket as their tongues touched and slid together. Antonia sat up to let him push the jacket off her shoulders. He tossed it somewhere, pushing her camisole up to lick and nip his way along her ribcage and abdomen. Antonia moaned at the heat that trailed wherever he touched, her fingers threading through his hair to hold him to her.

Cullen chuckled against her skin, the sound and the sensation exquisite. He pushed the camisole up further, slipping it off of her and unfastening her breastband at the same time. She sighed in pleasure, lying back on the desk again as first his hands and then his lips and tongue traveled over her breasts, teasing the nipples to aching hardness.

Reaching between them, Antonia found the buttons on one of their pants; she didn't care whose. She just wanted them off.

As it turned out, they were his, and he gave a strangled moan as her fingers dipped into the opening they made. Cullen pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, trembling as she stroked him through his smallclothes.

They broke apart briefly, scrambling to remove the last of their clothing, and then came back together, moaning into each other's mouths at the first contact of naked heat against naked heat.

Cullen held himself above her, and she could feel the trembling in his body. "Maker, love, I want you so badly," he whispered raggedly, his breath hot across her cheek.

Antonia realized that he was waiting for her; he was giving her this one last chance, despite the depth of his need, to say no if she wanted to. Reaching up, she stroked the side of his face. "Yes, Cullen, please." She was more than ready—had been ready for months, it felt like.

And then he was there, where she had dreamed of having him, buried deep inside her. After that first thrust their hands caressed each other's faces, mouths finding each other and mimicking what was happening elsewhere. At first slow, then speeding up as the long-delayed pleasure grew and mounted. Antonia wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle just enough, and then she could do nothing other than hold on to him, shaking, as the waves washed over and through her. Cullen followed her with a groan of pleasure.

Wrapped in each other's arms, they let their bodies cool, exchanging kisses and smiling at each other with a great deal of foolishness.


	54. Exactly What I Hoped For

_Thank you all so much for reading this and for your enthusiasm! This chapter, also, is NSFW. Enjoy! _

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_16 Wintersend, 9:42_

"Well," Antonia said brightly, when she could speak again. "That was what I wanted. I'll be off, then." She pushed playfully at Cullen's shoulders, grinning at him.

He growled deep in his throat. "Oh, no, you won't. I'm not done with you yet." He kissed her long and deeply, until she could feel the heat beginning to spread through her again.

"If you're going to put it that way, I suppose I can stay a while," she said. "But I've heard rumors that you have a bed up in that loft there—on behalf of those of us getting splinters, what would you say to moving?"

Cullen chuckled, and with a last, lingering kiss he got off her, giving her a hand to help her up. "Watch out for the broken glass."

"Sorry about that."

He held on to her hand, pulling her to him. "Is there—anything else you regret about tonight?"

Antonia cupped his cheek. Even in the darkened room she could see the uncertainty in him, and she wanted to make it go away for good. "No, Cullen. No regrets."

"Even that it took this long?"

She pressed her forehead against his, kissing him tenderly. "You don't think that was worth the wait? I certainly do."

His arms tightened around her, pulling her close. "This is more than I ever thought I could hope for."

"This is exactly what I hoped for." A cool breeze wafted over her, reminding her that they were standing naked in the middle of his office, a room people felt free to enter at all hours of the day and night. "Although perhaps in a slightly less public location next time—like upstairs?"

Cullen chuckled at that, letting go of her.

The loft was not what she'd expected. The bed looked surprisingly comfortable, given how little time she knew he spent in it, and there was a small pile of clearly well-read books in a protected corner. Otherwise, especially for a man with such neatly regimented habits, holdover of his years as a Templar, it was a disaster. Quite literally, too—where the roof should have been were vines and branches, and building materials lay piled in the corners.

"Cullen," she said, looking around her in dismay. "You're going to freeze to death some night."

"Not likely."

"Do you really never get cold?"

"Not often, no. And the cool air and the light in the morning—they help. With the nightmares." Cullen reached for her hand, tugging her toward the bed. "And that's as much as I want to talk about that right now, if you don't mind."

Antonia pushed him back into the pillows, straddling his thighs. "I don't mind at all," she whispered, leaning down to kiss his mouth, and then his throat and collarbones and the muscular lines of his shoulders. She ran her hands over his chest and stomach. Between kisses, she said, "I've been wanting to do this since the first time I saw you with your shirt off on the training grounds. There were times I thought you trained shirtless just to torment me."

"Sadly, no." Cullen gasped, his fingers tangling in her hair as she found a particularly sensitive spot. "It wouldn't have occurred to me that you felt that way. To tell you the truth, I thought at first Josephine was more your type."

Antonia chuckled. She bit him just under the ribcage, admiring the red mark her teeth had left behind and soothing the spot with her tongue, to Cullen's evident pleasure. She and Josephine had indulged in a mild flirtation at first, but only for fun. As their friendship had grown, the need to test it that way had receded. She rested her chin on Cullen's sternum, looking up at him. "Were you jealous?"

"It's foolish to be jealous over something you don't think you can ever have."

"But you were anyway, weren't you?"

His blush said enough.

"Can I tell you how much I hated watching you with all those women at the Winter Palace?"

"I had no interest in any of them, you know that." Cullen sat up, lifting her chin on his fingertips so he could look into her eyes.

"I did know that, and I still ... I didn't like it. That's probably terribly petty and and possessive of me."

He smiled, his eyes warm on hers. "Strangely enough, I don't think I mind."

"Good. Because next time we're invited to a ball at the Winter Palace—"

"I would be perfectly happy never again setting foot in the Winter Palace," Cullen said. "It wasn't even so much the gossip and the backstabbing—even I know what the Game entails. But the indifference to it all ..."

"At least there was dancing." Antonia shifted next to him so she could tuck her head against his shoulder, remembering how it had felt at the end of that long and miserable and altogether too exciting night to find herself safe and cared for there in his arms.

Cullen chuckled, but he put his arm around her, resting his cheek against her head. "Or an attempt at it, anyway."

"I thought it was perfect."

"Then I am grateful for your poor taste in dance partners." He kissed his way from her temple to her mouth, a sweet but passionate kiss that had Antonia melting back into the mattress, pulling him down with her.

Words and time were forgotten in their eagerness to kiss and taste and touch. Antonia could feel the ache and the emptiness building inside her, her body moving ever more restlessly under Cullen's caresses. At last, much as she didn't want this ever to end, she didn't think she could take much more. Reaching between them to take him in her hand, she whispered, "Cullen, I need you."

He groaned at her words and her touch, poising himself just above her. Antonia closed her eyes, anticipating his entrance—

And below them, the door opened. "Commander? Commander!"

Antonia had no trouble placing the voice as Eustace's. There was a pause while she and Cullen lay frozen in what might be the most awkward position possible and Eustace below was evidently looking around and seeing their clothes strewn across the office and the contents of Cullen's desk on the floor.

Finally, he said, "Oh, sod it," and they could hear the door shut as he left the office.

She couldn't help but laugh, and Cullen chuckled, too, kissing her nose and her forehead. And then he pressed inside her and all the laughter faded. Antonia arched against him, taking him as deeply as she could. "You feel so good."

"So do you." He moaned into her ear, withdrawing and plunging in again. He went slowly, taking his time.

There was a weakness in her limbs, a spreading pleasure that she wasn't sure she could take much more of. Cullen was kissing her throat, her ears, her jaw, still moving in that maddeningly slow pace that felt amazing and yet kept that sought-after goal just out of reach.

Antonia clung to him, her teeth finding a sensitive place in his shoulder, nipping and then outright biting, and with a cry of pleasure he went over the edge, the rapid snapping of his hips in response catching Antonia just where she needed, and she tumbled over after him, calling his name.

The little tremors of after-response seemed to last forever, as they lay sleepily exchanging kisses and endearments. As Antonia shifted at last to pull the blankets up over limbs gone chilled from the open air above them, Cullen reached for her, holding her tightly. "You'll stay?"

She cuddled against him, as she had in the cabin in Ferelden. "I'm not going anywhere."


	55. It's Perfect

_Bit of a short one today, but it was a fun one to write - hopefully equally fun to read. Many thanks to all of you for reading! _

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_17 Wintersend, 9:42_

Shadows all around him, the burning hands of rage demons, the inky black of shades, the smooth purplish skin of desire, crowding him. As though they were dancing in a ring, whirling, spinning, a child's game, their voices loud in his ears, chanting, the Chant of Light perverted by their demon voices ...

"No! No! Leave me!" he called out. "Leave me!"

And then he awoke, blinking in the bright light of morning, coming slowly to full alertness and awareness that he was no longer in the tower as he felt the fresh breeze cooling his skin. For a moment, he thought he must still be dreaming, because leaning over him was Antonia, her beautiful face concerned.

"Bad dream?"

He closed his eyes, banishing the last vestiges of the demons, at least for now. "They always are. Without the lyrium, they're worse."

Some part of Cullen had always assumed that in the face of the dreams she would feel he was more trouble than he was worth ... but when he opened his eyes she was still there, and with the sight of her the memory of the night before came flooding back, in all its sweetness and passion.

Sitting up, he put his hand on her cheek, her skin so smooth to the touch. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Antonia leaned into his caress. "I think you can let me worry about you a little."

It wasn't what he was used to, but it sounded so good coming from her. "If you insist."

"I do." She smiled, bending toward him and stroking the side of his face with her fingertips. "Despite the dreams, is it still a good morning?"

She needed to ask? "It's perfect," Cullen breathed.

Antonia rested her forehead against his and they looked into one another's eyes, the moment somehow feeling equally as intimate as last night's love-making. Cullen had never in his life imagined he could feel this much for one person—perhaps later, in the depths of night, it would be frightening, but right at the moment, it was ... wonderful.

"You are ..." he whispered, but there were no words. "I have never felt anything like this before."

"Neither have I." She paused, taking a deep breath, and then she made his dreams come true. "I love you, Cullen. You know that, right?"

"I love you, too." He reached for her, bringing her head down to his so he could kiss her. She started to draw away, but he kissed her again, unable to make himself let her go. "Stay," he said, realizing for the first time that she was fully dressed. "Don't go."

"I thought you were so busy." Antonia smiled, but she didn't pull away, and Cullen took that as agreement.

He tugged her down onto the bed, kissing her some more, loving the way she yielded to him, the way her body warmed and molded itself to his.

And then, downstairs the door opened. Cullen rested his head on her shoulder, sighing softly so as not to be heard by whoever the intruder was.

"Good morning, Commander," came the resigned voice of Eustace. And then, after a moment, "Good morning, Inquisitor."

Antonia giggled. "Good morning, Eustace." She kissed Cullen quickly and sat up. "So much for that, then." In his ear, she whispered, "For your consideration, let me point out that my quarters are completely private."

He caught his breath at the thought. This morning was unbelievable enough; he hadn't been prepared to think about what happened next. Cullen found himself utterly unable to let go of her hand. "You'll think this is foolish," he said softly, mindful of Eustace banging around in the office below. "But I'm ... I'm afraid if I let you go this will all have been a dream." It was hard to admit to that, the fact that despite all the evidence before him he still had difficulty trusting to such incredible good fortune.

Antonia looked at him thoughtfully, and again he was astonished that she hadn't run out of patience with him yet. Then she laughed, as if an idea had struck her. "I'll tell you what," she said. "I'll leave you some incentive to come find me tonight."

"What kind of incentive?"

"You'll see."

He loved the wicked twinkle in her eyes, although he was a little nervous about whatever idea she was having.

And then she was gone. He heard some indistinct sounds from the office, then Antonia's voice. "Installing locks on the doors, Eustace? Good man. I heartily approve."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

Cullen lay back on the pillows, sighing contentedly.


	56. Oh, That Question

_I loved writing this chapter - something about it was so much. It is NSFW, just so you know. Thanks to all of you for reading!_

* * *

_17 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia was at breakfast, eating with a hearty appetite, when Cullen appeared. She stifled a laugh at the look on his face.

He took the seat next to her, leaned over, and said, "Where is it?"

She couldn't hold back her laughter any further, and took a few minutes to get it under control, minutes in which Cullen watched her, trying to keep a straight face himself, and then eventually lost the battle as well. Whether the rest of the room could tell that they were really laughing out of happiness and not because it was a particularly funny joke, Antonia neither knew nor cared.

At last she managed to get herself under control. "I believe, Commander, we agreed on certain parameters. Besides, it looks better."

His ever-present breastplate was missing, along with the ridiculous fur-collared robe, and the lack of them made him look more casual, more dressed-down somehow, and fairly breathtaking. She would have loved to be able to drag him back to her quarters right now, but there was a day's work to be put in, the cares of the Inquisition not so light that they could be put aside that easily, even for love.

"You're really going to make me go looking for it?"

"Oh, I don't think you're going to have to look very hard."

His eyes darkened in a way that was coming to be deliciously familiar, dropping to her mouth.

Antonia bit her lower lip, soothing the bite with her tongue, as she had done to him before. Cullen caught his breath, looking away. "That's not fair."

She grinned. "You should have some breakfast, Commander. You've got a long day ahead of you, got to keep up your strength."

Leaving him there, she took her plate to the sideboard. Dorian joined her as she left the main hall. "Congratulations, dear girl."

She winced, knowing her cheeks must be aflame. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, that, and everyone knows Eustace is up there putting locks on the office doors. Not a bad idea, that."

"It was his. Eustace's, that is."

"And?"

"Dorian, I'm not telling you a thing. From here on out, if you want to know about someone's love life, you'd better go get one of your own." She glanced at the tavern significantly.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. Stop moping about it. We can all see it's mutual, so go after it!"

"Easy for you to say. What's it been, eight months waiting for you two to get this far?"

"About that, yes. The Conclave was over a year ago now. It seems unbelievable." She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of it. They had performed a ceremony on the anniversary, but the pain was really too fresh; it had been a brief service in the Chantry, nothing more. "On a brighter note, Wintersend is coming."

She had received another note from Mia Chaffee, confirming their arrival in another week; Flissa was hard at work preparing rooms and making out lists of the people in Skyhold and organizing when they could all invite families or be spared for visits home, and keeping it all impressively under wraps. Yvette Montilyet had confirmed that she and a few other family members were on their way. The special visitor Varric had been trying to contact hadn't been heard from, but Antonia hoped it would work out.

The rest of the day was busy with a thousand details. Antonia tried to keep her mind on her work, but she kept remembering moments from the night before, touches and kisses and sounds that had her in a near-constant state of arousal. She wondered if the same thing was happening to Cullen; she certainly hoped so.

After dinner, she caught his eye, raising her eyebrows. There was an immediate and obvious, at least to her, change in his breathing. Antonia tilted her head just slightly toward the door of her quarters, and he nodded.

She went first, stripping her clothes off on the way up. Earlier in the day, she had set up pillows and blankets by the fireplace, and now she hastily found his breastplate and that ridiculous fur-collared cape and put them on. The metal was cool against her bare skin, but she imagined it would warm quickly.

Antonia arranged herself on the pillows, waiting. She felt a bit shy about it, really, and was half-tempted to change her plan. This had seemed so clever this morning, but what if he thought it was just silly?

She didn't have long to wait before she heard the heavy tread on the stairs that she had imagined so many times. "Cullen?"

"You were expecting someone else?"

"I hope not, or I'd be terribly embarrassed."

He rounded the top of the stairs, and stopped stockstill, staring at her. "Maker."

Any concerns she'd had about him thinking this was silly went away at the look on his face. "Do you still think last night was a dream?"

"I think right now must be a dream. Antonia, you— I— ah ..."

"Articulately put."

"Talking, you know. Not good." He was proving rather good at rapidly taking his clothes off, however. Naked, he joined her on the pillows, his fingers fumbling at the catches on the breastplate. "You'd think I didn't take this thing off every night," he whispered in frustration.

Antonia blew gently across his ear, and he moaned.

"That is not fair."

At last he managed the catches, getting the breastplate off over her head. He kissed her breasts, and the edge of her ribcage, and across her abdomen, and over her hip, and then—Maker's mercy. His mouth found the heat at her core, his tongue seeking out her most sensitive spots, his teeth scraping ever so perfectly just where she wanted them, slowly but surely fanning the flames as Antonia gasped and twisted beneath his ministrations, stroking his hair and arching her back to get ever closer.

At last he put his mouth over the pulsating spot that most needed his attention and suckled. Antonia froze, so close. "Cul-len!" she bit out between her clenched teeth.

He suckled harder, his tongue stroking once, twice, and then she was lost, spasming helplessly beneath him.

Cullen held her while her breathing slowed, his hands slowly stroking her back, the sensation arousing her all over again even as she was coming down from the previous peak. "You are so beautiful," he whispered into her hair.

She had never felt particularly beautiful, so if she was now, it was because of him. But she wasn't sure how to say that, so instead she attacked him, kissing his neck and letting her hands wander. Only when he was groaning and thrusting his hips up against her teasing fingers did she straddle him, letting him fill her. He sat up, holding her, his mouth at her throat, while she rocked atop him, her head falling back on her shoulders as she lost herself in the exquisite sensations being created in her body.

The waves crashed over them both gently, sweetly this time, and they fell together onto the pillows. Cullen kissed her nose, and her forehead. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"I wanted to say that to you … before, but I—didn't know if—"

"You can say it as often as you want."

"You'll get tired of hearing it."

Antonia shook her head. "Not possible."

"You say that now."

"I'll say it again, if it'll convince you." She kissed his cheek, then got up off the pillows. "Do you want some wine? Or ale?"

"Cider?"

"Of course."

"That's right, you have your own cellar, don't you?"

"You should know." She slipped on a soft, light robe and went to draw the cider for him and a glass of wine for herself. When she came back, Cullen was sitting on her couch, with his pants back on. Antonia handed him the tankard of cider and curled up next to him. "Out of curiosity, exactly how much of my quarters did you design?"

He stared down into the cider, biting his lip, but his ears were the telltale red she had come to know.

"All of it, then?"

"More or less."

"Well, they're perfect."

"Good." He took a deep swallow of the cider, relaxing into the corner of the couch.

"You don't drink much, do you?"

"No. Templars don't really—it affects your focus. And now, with the lyrium withdrawal ... it makes it worse."

"And yet you have empty wine bottles on your desk."

"On my floor, now. I'll be picking up glass shards for a month." He gave her a smile that was almost shy, and therefore highly adorable. "Not that I mind."

Antonia pressed her head into his shoulder, sighing happily.

"I have a question," he said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against the heat of his body.

"So do I."

"Yours first, then."

"No, no, you go." She lifted her head to look at him, waiting.

"All right, then ... um ... what now?"

"More of the same, I hope, and lots of it."

Cullen laughed. "Well, yes, if there was any question about that. But ... um ... every night?"

"Yes, please."

With a little moan, he kissed her and she tasted the tartness of the cider on his lips. "Here, or my office?"

"Do you want me to ask you to move in with me? Because I absolutely will."

"That might be a bit ... complicated."

"Because of the dreams."

"Yes."

"But you can't predict which nights you'll have nightmares and which you won't, can you? Or is it that you have them every night?"

"More or less the last one. I don't want to disrupt your sleep on a regular basis. It's taken me years to learn to get by with as little as I get."

Antonia wanted to protest that she didn't care, that she'd cheerfully go without sleep for him, but she knew how impractical that was. "Well, remember that I spend a lot of time away from Skyhold. I can catch up on sleep when I'm gone." Cullen gave her a skeptical look, and she sighed, settling against his shoulder again. "Maybe we can just take things one night at a time for a while, see how it goes. I could get used to falling asleep in your arms every night, but I do get cranky when I don't get enough sleep."

"You? Cranky? I'll believe that when I see it." He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I'm not very good at taking things as they come, you know. I prefer to have a plan, something I can count on."

"I know you do." Antonia watched the fire for a moment, then said, "I'll tell you what—let's say every other night when I'm at Skyhold we spend here, and the off nights can take care of themselves."

"I think I can handle that." He took a long swallow of the cider, and Antonia remembered her glass of wine, which she had set down on the floor. She retrieved it, letting the cool liquid flow over her tongue. Looking at her curiously, he said, "Now, you had a question?"

"Yes. You've ... um ... clearly gotten around a bit, which I thought was ... unusual for a Templar. So—spill. How many?"

"I'm sorry, how many what?"

"Women, Cullen. How many women."

"Oh, _that_ question."

"Uh-huh."

He squinted at the air, counting. "What's in a number, really?" He was blushing, too, which caused Antonia's eyebrows to fly up in surprise.

"That many?"

"Well, how many for you?"

"Seven."

"It's higher than that."

"Tell me."

"You first." He was watching her with curiosity, and she was a little bit sorry she had brought it up.

"Fine. The first one was a friend, Jonathan, when we were fourteen."

"Fourteen?" Cullen said with some surprise.

"How old were you?"

He looked down into the cider again. "Fourteen," he mumbled.

"Well, then. Jonathan was the son of a farmholder—he caught me stealing apples from a tree in his father's orchard when we were ten, and we became friends. When we were fourteen we decided to experiment. It was a miserable experience; neither of us enjoyed it much. He's married now, with four children last I heard."

"And after that?"

"There was a tutor—it was a mutual thing, but Father sacked him as soon as he found out from one of the maids. After that, a couple of men my siblings were trying to get me to marry. I wasn't marriage material, but apparently worth a tumble." She flushed, looking away. Those had not been enjoyable encounters. Cullen pulled her closer against him, clearly trying to erase the memory with the warmth of his body. Antonia rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before going on. "Then there was one of Father's friends. He was most instructive. And then the very stereotypical stableboy. I swear, they're hired for their ability to attract the nobles' daughters. And now you." She smiled. "Your turn."

"So you never ... loved any of them?"

"No. Never even really thought I did. The two noblemen I thought … cared for me, but that was … I was mistaken."

Cullen kissed her hair, and her cheek, and her forehead. "I'm sorry. You deserve better than that."

"It was a long time ago." She smiled at him. "And I have better, now." They kissed, softly, but when Cullen would have deepened it Antonia pulled away. "Oh, no, you don't. I told you my stories, so out with it."

"All right, then, my turn." His ears were bright red again, and he looked at the fire instead of at her. "As you know, I joined the Templars at thirteen. They were anxious to make sure there was as little of that type of fraternization between male and female Templars—and particularly between Templars and mages—as possible, so there was an unofficial policy to take regular trips to ... er ... houses of assignation, if you will."

"Ah. No wonder you can't count that high."

"Exactly. It didn't always work, mind you. Being around each other daily, there were many temptations, and more ... liaisons between Templars, and between Templars and mages, than the leadership wanted to admit to."

"Did you ever—?"

"No. There was a mage—she was an elf, very ... spirited, and I—I thought I cared for her. I wanted to be in love, and she was … so different from me that I thought—" He swallowed, the memory a painful one. "She was one of the first to join Uldred."

"I'm sorry," Antonia whispered.

Cullen sighed. "In retrospect, she probably didn't know me from any other Templar, and she wasn't—who I had thought she was."

"No wonder you've been ... hesitant."

"Something like that. Well, that and—" He looked at her, his eyes studying her face. "You really don't know how extraordinary you are, do you? The idea that you should turn your attention to me, of all people ..." He shook his head. "I still have trouble believing it."

"I wish you did believe it. You're extraordinary, too, you know." She laid a hand along his cheek and kissed him. "Someday I'd like you to look at me and know that I'm yours, absolutely and unreservedly."

"I'll work on it," he said softly.

"Good. So—after the Circle? Was Kirkwall the same, as far as the Templars and the houses of assignation?"

"I was more or less in charge in Kirkwall—at least, Knight-Commander Meredith didn't concern herself with such mundane details. So yes, I tried my best to keep everyone ... satisfied outside their duties. The Blooming Rose in Kirkwall was very friendly to Templars. Too friendly, occasionally."

From the look on his face, this wasn't a happy story, either. "So was that it?"

The blush came back, and he laughed a little. "No. You see, a few years into my tenure in Kirkwall, I happened to be in the Hanged Man looking for one of the recruits. Hawke had a friend, a Rivaini pirate captain, who was ... adventurous, shall we say. She knew I had taken Hawke on a rather disastrous dinner, and apparently decided I was a ... challenge? A project? It's hard to say. At any rate, she invited me back to her room. Well, I say 'invited', but …" He cleared his throat. "Three days later I returned to the Gallows with a fairly significant amount of new knowledge."

"Really."

"Yes. Isabela was a woman who knew what she wanted, and seemed to feel that I was worth tutoring."

"So did the two of you have an ongoing thing?" Antonia felt a flash of jealousy, which was utterly ridiculous at this point.

"No, she never gave me the time of day again. To her credit, she was upfront about that part, always made it clear it was a one-time thing."

"So why ...?"

"I don't know. Maybe sometime you'll meet her and you can ask her."

"Yes, I can just see myself doing that."

"Or not, then." Cullen grinned. "At any rate, after that I had ... opportunities. As many as I wanted, anyway. Until ..." The smile faded, his eyes on the fire again.

And they were back to the darkness. There was so much of it in his past. "And now me."

"And now you."

"End of story," Antonia said softly.

"With any luck, the start of a new one."

"I like the sound of that." She got up, taking his hand. "Come to bed."

Cullen laughed. "I like the sound of that."


	57. Heavy on Her Shoulders

_Thank you for reading, everyone!  
_

* * *

_23 Wintersend, 9:42_

The War Room meeting was drawing to a close, much to Antonia's relief. After several nights of poor sleep for reasons both happy and not so much, as Cullen's nightmares continued unabated, she was actually looking forward to a night sleeping apart from Cullen to catch up. She stifled a yawn.

"Are we boring you, Inquisitor dear?" Josephine asked. Her eyes twinkled.

"Not in the least." Antonia avoided Cullen's eye, but she could see that his ears were red.

"Just a few more items."

Leliana, who had been remarkably quiet all afternoon, spoke up. "I believe we need to discuss the request for Cassandra and myself to go to the Conclave and participate in the search for the next Divine."

Antonia glanced at her sharply. "I thought we agreed to put that aside until we had come closer to defeating Corypheus."

"We struck an important blow at him at Halamshiral. Perhaps it is time to consider what happens after Corypheus has been defeated."

Maybe it was because she was tired, but the whole line of discussion struck Antonia as poorly timed. "He hasn't yet, and until he is, the Inquisition's needs take precedence over those of the Chantry. We can't do without you, Leliana, or Cassandra. Not yet." Why did they all assume that just because they'd gone to a ball and no one was killed they had taken some significant step forward?

Morrigan, who was typically silent during these discussions, fully aware no doubt of how narrow the limits of Leliana's patience with her were, spoke up. "I believe the Inquisitor is correct. The Chantry has proven utterly insignificant in the course of events, and its needs should not be allowed to endanger the work of this Inquisition."

Both Leliana and Cullen were needled by Morrigan's comment, and even Josephine appeared annoyed. Antonia stepped in before things could escalate. "Sharply put, but she's not wrong. You and Cassandra began this; we need you to see it through."

Leliana sighed. "Very well."

Morrigan crossed her arms, looking smug.

"Morrigan," Antonia said, "while I appreciate the support, if you could refrain from being deliberately inflammatory, I would appreciate it even more."

"Do not hold your breath," Leliana said. She and Morrigan looked at one another with mutual distaste, a world of history between them.

"I seem to recall someone else making similar pleas, once," Morrigan said, a faint smirk hovering on her lips.

"Yes. May I hope you will listen better to Antonia than you did to—than you did then."

There was silence in the room. Then Josephine flipped over a page on her writing board, and she grinned. "Perhaps we can lighten the mood a bit. I have here a stack of requests from ... interested parties who want to know more about Commander Cullen's lineage."

Cullen rolled his eyes, groaning loudly. "I believe, Ambassador, you should feel free to use those requests for kindling."

Josephine shrugged, gathering up the rather large stack of papers.

"Wait." Leliana held out her hand. "Give those to me. It could prove useful to know who pines for our commander." Her eyes twinkled.

"I am not bait!" Cullen said indignantly.

"Hush, now, Cullen. Just ... look pretty." Leliana and Josephine both collapsed into giggles.

"Are you not going to help me with this?" Cullen asked, looking at Antonia.

"Actually, I think Leliana has a point. We should research these ... potential contacts." Antonia smiled grimly. "So I can have them all killed."

Josephine tried to get her laughter under control. "That strikes me as a misuse of the power of the Inquisition."

"Really? Because I thought it was one of the better perks I've found so far."

Morrigan sighed loudly. "It appears that this experience is going to mimic the Blight in more ways than one. I had hoped that the Inquisition could keep its mind on business."

"All work and no play, Morrigan—" Leliana began, but Morrigan coldly finished for her.

"Succeeds."

The two of them stared at each other again, the rest of them looking away from the heavy weight of memory that lay between the two women.

"And I believe we are finished for the day," Josephine said at last, getting up.

"Yes. Much to do." Cullen held out a hand for Antonia. "Inquisitor?"

"Don't mind if I do." She smiled at him, but she looked over her shoulder at Leliana. "You coming?"

"I ... yes."

Morrigan followed them all, a small smile on her face.

Leliana walked with Cullen and Antonia down the long corridor. "I am sorry. I try not to ... allow myself to get drawn into those conversations. It is difficult sometimes."

"I hope you understand about the Conclave. It's just ... we need you, Leliana. I need you on the top of your game for a little while longer, before we can start to think about a—before we get distracted by other concerns."

"You cannot ignore the demands of the world, Inquisitor. When the war is over, it will do no one any good if we have buried our heads in the sand."

"Maybe we can get to the end of the war before we start beating ourselves up for not planning better for what came after." Antonia really wanted to disengage from this whole conversation, and from the discussion of the future in general, but she couldn't seem to.

"Neither the end of the war or its aftermath are going to occur this afternoon," Cullen pointed out mildly.

"You, too, Cullen?" Leliana snapped. "I had not thought that you would both place your personal affairs above the needs of the Inquisition, or those of the rest of the world."

"You mean, as you did?" They had all forgotten Morrigan, who sauntered up to them now, her eyes narrowed. "I seem to recall entire days when we did nothing but camp while the two of you cavorted in bliss. Meanwhile, I was forced to fend off the attentions of the assassin." She raised her eyebrows. "You may pretend that at no point were you distracted from the ultimate goal, but I know better."

Leliana stared at her.

"Yes, you had conveniently forgotten, had you not? Or had you tried to forget, since things clearly did not end well?"

"They ended fine."

"You are not together; there was a time when you thought that would be equivalent to the end of the world."

Antonia didn't know which was worse—watching Leliana fight to keep her face from crumpling, or comparing her own life to what Leliana's had been. If in ten years, she was far from Cullen, still fighting these never-ending battles for the world, would it be a victory at all? Assuming she survived that long.

"Both of you stop," she said in a voice thick with her own fears. "It doesn't help our cause to have you two sniping at each other. Morrigan, obviously this is a touchy spot, so please stop poking it. Leliana, I'm sorry. You're right, it's important to think about what will happen later ... but I really cannot do this without you. Please, tell the Conclave you can't help them yet."

Leliana nodded. "Very well. It was not my intention to make you question my commitment to the Inquisition; that remains paramount."

As Antonia turned to look at her, Morrigan sighed. "Leliana, you have my apology. My remarks were uncalled for." She sauntered the rest of the way down the hall, disappearing through the door.

"To think I have lived to see Morrigan apologize. Perhaps I have died and gone to the Fade." Leliana sighed. "I should know better by now than to let her get to me." She left them, as well.

Cullen looked down at Antonia quizzically. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, mustering up a smile. But she wasn't fine. The weight of the Inquisition was heavy on her shoulders. She wanted the future she knew he so looked forward to, their future together, but it wasn't going to come, and the best she could look forward to was what Leliana had—memories, and distance, and loneliness, and sorrow. Worse yet, she had doomed Cullen to that life, as well, on top of everything he had already suffered.

Deep inside her, Antonia could feel the tears she had been holding back so long swelling up and ready to burst forth, and once she started crying she wouldn't be able to stop.

But she pretended to be all right, smiling and laughing with Cullen as usual.


	58. The Light

_Thanks for reading, everyone! You make my day.  
_

* * *

_24 Wintersend, 9:42_

Cullen meandered along the battlements, looking up at the stars. It was a beautiful night, and he was for once happy to be alone in it. He was happy in general. The past week with Antonia, and the months before that, had been the best of his life. He had a job that challenged him, that made a difference in the world and helped people, and now he had a woman to share it all with—a woman whose like he had never met before. He still couldn't quite believe that she loved him.

She certainly did her best to prove it to him, however. He shivered in remembered response at the thought of her kisses, her touch, the sounds she made. Cullen was not a stranger to physical passion, but nothing he had experienced in his life came close to what he felt with Antonia; what a difference it made to love the person you were with. And it wasn't just the love-making. Cuddling with her under the covers, their long talks in the depth of the night, waking from a nightmare safe in her arms ... He sighed with a contentment he had never expected to feel.

With some amusement, he thought of Mia's last letter, and how quickly she had pounced on his careless use of Antonia's first name. Mia had always been able to see right through him—he shouldn't have been surprised that she still could, despite the time and distance between them. He really owed her a good long letter. Maybe he would write her tonight. He would finish this round of the battlements and then head back to his office and try to keep his mind off what had happened there, on top of his desk, long enough to tell Mia everything.

Cullen was on the back side of the battlements now, used really only by the men on patrol. He was surprised, therefore, to hear a whimpering sound coming from somewhere ahead of him. At first, he thought it sounded like a puppy. Dogs had proliferated in Skyhold, appearing from somewhere, and being fed by the various soldiers and workers around the place. He hoped no one had brought a helpless puppy up here and left it. Cullen had his fair share of the Fereldan love of dogs—he had even considered getting Antonia a puppy for Wintersend. A mabari, naturally, who would be a guardian and a warrior for her when it grew up.

But this was no puppy. As he drew closer, he could tell it was a woman crying. The sound constricted his heart—he hated to hear anyone in pain. Cullen quickened his steps, closing in on the source of the sound.

And then he recognized the slender figure standing there, leaning against the battlements and weeping as if her heart was broken, and he stopped moving entirely. What in Thedas was Antonia doing up here on the battlements crying so desperately?

"Antonia," he called softly, not wanting to startle her. He hurried to her side.

She looked up at him, stricken, and for a moment he thought she was going to embrace him. Then she turned away, her shoulders shaking as she struggled to gain control, and failed utterly.

"What is it, love?" he asked, gently putting his hands on her shoulders and pulling her back against him. But she twisted away, burying her face in her hands.

Cullen was at a loss. He didn't know why she was crying, or if he had done something wrong, or if there was anything he could do to help, but he did know that he couldn't just stand here and leave her in misery and not do something to make it better.

She was gasping now, shuddering with the effort. "Please," she managed to get out. "I'll ... I'll be okay ... I just ... needed to be ... alone ..."

"If you think I can walk away and leave you like this, you're very much mistaken."

"You can't ... you can't fix this."

"I'm staying anyway. You can't get rid of me that easily," he said lightly, trying not to add to whatever burden she was struggling with.

Antonia put out a hand to the top of the battlement, holding herself up. "It's just ... everyone keeps ... keeps talking about the—the future, and ... and I ... all we did was go to a ball and not get killed, we didn't ... didn't defeat C-Corypheus, and I can't—can't do this alone."

"You're not alone." Cullen made a mental note to talk to Leliana about how it sounded when she put the needs of the Chantry ahead of the needs of the Inquisition.

"No, but—Leliana and C-Cassandra, they both—both seem so ... obsessed with the new Conclave, and ..."

"Leliana's focus is on the Inquisition, I promise you that." He would have liked to have said the same about Cassandra, but the Seeker appeared to be taking the idea of becoming the Divine rather more seriously than he would have expected. Meanwhile, of course, now that Antonia pointed it out, they were both giving the impression that they thought the battle was basically won.

"And you—"

Cullen had no idea what he had done in this situation. He certainly wasn't interested in going off to a Conclave and worrying about who would be the next Divine.

"Everyone keeps—" Antonia's voice was wavering now as the tenuous control she had gained over herself started to slip. "Everyone keeps wanting ... to talk about the future, and I—I don't think I have one. And I don't ... Oh, Maker, I sound—so stupid, but ..." She doubled over as if in pain, catching herself on her hands and knees, the words torn from her between sobs. "I don't want to die!"

Cullen remembered now, in his obsession with needing to know how she felt, needing to be certain, talking to her about what would happen after the war, almost demanding a promise from her. He went down on his knees next to her as she crouched on the ground crying, and put his arms around her, holding her to him.

"You are not going to die," he whispered fiercely into her hair. "I am not going to let that happen again. I promised you that the events of Haven would not be repeated, and I meant that. The next time you face Corypheus, you will have the entire Inquisition at your back, and you are not going to die."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "You can't promise that. You don't know." Another sob wracked her. "At the end, it will be me and Corypheus, and ..." She shook her head.

"You don't know, either," he said. He took her face gently in his hands and turned it toward him. "Look at how far we've come, and we're still here. You're still here."

"But ... Cullen, I can't—can't make plans, as if ... as if everything's going to be okay. Please, don't ask me to."

"All right," he said. "All right, love. I won't."

He thought perhaps they were through the storm, but as she looked at him her face crumpled, and she pulled away from him again, getting to her feet and hiding her face against the stones as she burst into a fresh storm of weeping.

Cullen got to his feet as well, gently stroking her back. "Antonia, you have to stop. You'll hurt yourself if you keep crying like this."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Cullen—I'm so ... so sorry."

"Whatever you've done, it's not worth this. Please, sweetheart, you'll make yourself sick if you don't stop."

"I sh-should never have let things get this far," she managed to get out. "Now ... now if I do ... l-lose to Corypheus, it'll ... it'll break your heart, and I—never meant to add to ... your burdens or ... or make things worse."

Cullen felt a flash of irritation. He wasn't a child, after all, and it wasn't as if she could have prevented him from falling in love with her. No one could have. But he squashed the annoyance, reminding himself that she wasn't exactly thinking clearly right now. What she needed was to calm down, and she couldn't do that unless he stayed calm himself.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket, turning her around to face him. "First," he said, gently but firmly, "take this."

She did so, wiping her eyes and cheeks and blowing her nose. Shuddering sobs still shook her body, but the flow of tears was slowing. "I'm sorry," she said, not looking at him. "I ... don't usually ... cry like this, but I—" She squeezed her eyes shut against a fresh burst of tears. "Cullen, I—didn't mean to ... to get you so involved in ... in my life, but—I ..."

"Yes, you did. Do you think we would have gotten to where we are if you hadn't? I certainly wasn't going to push things this far. And thank the Maker you did," he added, when her eyes shimmered with more tears. He took her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. "I'm going to tell you something, and you're not going to worry about this ever again, all right?"

She nodded, blinking so that the tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks.

"Antonia, you are the light of my life. Even more, you are the light _in_ my life. After all these years surrounded by darkness, angry and bitter and afraid and thinking of nothing but vengeance—first the Inquisition and now you have given me a purpose beyond all that. And you have brought me more happiness than I've known in ... a very, very long time." He rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs stroking her wet cheeks. "You're right, we can't know what the future holds, or how much of one there is, but ... it doesn't matter. Not really. Because this time with you has been worth whatever comes."

She closed her eyes, but instead of pulling away she pressed closer. With a sigh of relief, Cullen wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. He couldn't protect her from Corypheus, or in any other combat, but maybe, just maybe, he could protect her from herself.

How long they stood there, he didn't know. It could have been hours. But at last she gave a deep sigh and moved away from him enough to look up at him.

"Better?" Cullen asked.

Antonia nodded. "That's been building for a while."

"I could tell. You could have talked to me, you know."

"No, because I knew that as soon as I did this was going to happen. Next time, I won't let it get this bad. I promise."

"Good." He bent, putting an arm under her knees, and picked her up, marveling at how light she was in his arms. "Come on."

Antonia laid her head on his shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to bed. We'll see if we can't find some way to get your mind off your troubles."

"You've got your work cut out for you."

"I like a challenge."

She chuckled wearily. "Are you planning to carry me up the ladder like this?"

"I'm not certain I like that much challenge."

By the time he reached his office, she was asleep, her body and mind worn out from the storm of weeping, and she woke only a little to climb the ladder. Cullen took off her boots and her jacket and tucked her into bed, and then he got into bed with her and held her and stroked her tear-stained face.

He had meant every word—she was his light, and the idea of her life being snuffed out in this conflict, leaving him alone in a deeper darkness than ever, was terrifying. But he couldn't have loved her as much if she wasn't who she was, stalwartly standing between the people she loved and the darkness that threatened them all.


	59. Happy Wintersend

_Thanks to all of you for reading!  
_

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_29 Wintersend, 9:42_

Antonia put down the note, looking up at the messenger. "She said she was coming up this afternoon?"

"Yes, Inquisitor. The rest of the group stayed behind at the checkpoint—there's an older man who doesn't travel so well—but the woman decided not to wait. So I came on ahead to make sure you knew to expect her tonight."

"Thank you, Taggart." She got up, hunting for her heavy cloak. "And the Commander has not heard of this?"

"Of course not, ser!" Taggart looked shocked. "Your orders were clear."

"Excellent. Let's go."

"Inquisitor?"

"I'm coming down with you to meet her."

"Yes, ser."

On her favorite horse, she trotted with Taggart down the mountain road, glad to see that the snow was holding off. It would be a better Wintersend if everyone could reach Skyhold safely, particularly the two parties of surprise visitors for Cullen and Josephine. Word had come to Varric from Weisshaupt that there was a chance of Leliana's surprise arriving, a circumstance that Antonia had been happier about before Morrigan and her odd son had taken up residence in Skyhold. Now she worried that if the Hero of Ferelden did actually show up, there would be fireworks ruining Leliana's reunion.

In the meantime, however, she had to admit she felt very nervous about meeting Cullen's sister today and the rest of his family tomorrow.

"There! That's her, Inquisitor." Taggart pointed to a woman in a dark blue cloak who was riding ahead of a small detail of troops coming in for the holiday.

Antonia spurred her horse, waving as she came within hailing distance. "Mrs. Chaffee?"

"Yes." Cullen's sister looked her up and down. "Welcoming committee?"

"Something like that." She came in reach and held out a hand. "Antonia Trevelyan."

"The Inquisitor herself? Well, I am honored." They shook, their eyes on each other. "You're younger than I expected."

"I get that a lot."

Mia Rutherford Chaffee was very much what Antonia had expected; she looked very similar to Cullen, if slightly more weathered and a bit older. And there was a no-nonsense air about her that reminded Antonia of Cullen's stories.

They walked their horses side by side up the road.

"It was kind of you to think of Cullen—we haven't seen him since he left for the Templars, and that was some time ago now." Cullen's sister looked Antonia over again. "Longer than you are old, I shouldn't wonder."

"Not quite."

"How old are you?"

"27."

"Huh. When I was 27, I was married with a babe on the way."

"And I'm the leader of the Inquisition." Antonia made the statement simply but firmly. She wasn't going to be made to feel inadequate that easily.

"So you are."

She sounded so like Cullen that Antonia had to smile. "So it's you and your husband, and Cullen's father?"

"Yes. They're back at the checkpoint—they'll come up in the wagons tomorrow. Our brother Jared's with them, and my boys, Cully and Devin."

Antonia swallowed. She hadn't thought about what it might be like to watch Cullen with children and wish. They had agreed after her breakdown the other night that they wouldn't talk about the future, so they still had never discussed children, and didn't seem likely to, but that didn't mean she didn't think about it. "Cully?"

"Born around the end of the Blight; the first time we thought Cullen was dead."

"That must have been difficult."

"'Twas. My parents blamed themselves for letting him join the Chantry ... as if they'd had a choice in the matter. He's a stubborn one, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I had." Antonia grinned.

"Ah-ha!"

"What?"

"Tell me, Inquisitor, what are you to my brother?"

Antonia blushed. She wasn't certain what word to use. 'Lovers' seemed too ... bold for an introduction to family, 'girlfriend' seemed too light. She opted for simple truth. "I love him."

She could feel the other woman's scrutiny on her again.

"You know what's happened to him in the past?"

"Yes. He's told me everything."

"That must have taken some work. Cullen's never been one to tell everything to anyone."

"No, that's true enough." Antonia nodded. "It took a long while to get here."

She looked ahead, seeing the gates open for them. Amongst the people milling about in the courtyard, she saw the familiar figure in the fur collar. Of course, she thought. Someone would have told him she had left Skyhold. Most of the time, she didn't mind his protective tendencies, but she wished she had thought of that before she left, so she could have preserved his reunion with his sister for a more private moment. Antonia hadn't even intended on being there herself, to avoid becoming a distraction. Ah, well, at least the surprise was intact, she thought.

"See him?" she said to his sister.

Cullen's sister caught her breath as her eyes settled on the tall figure. "Maker's breath. He's the spitting image of Father." She spurred her horse forward more quickly, while Antonia hung back in order to stay out of the way. "CULLEN!"

His head snapped up and he frowned at the woman approaching. Antonia could tell the exact moment when the light dawned and he realized who it was. His sister's horse had barely come to a halt before she was out of the saddle, and almost as soon as she touched the ground Cullen had lifted her back off of it, swinging her around and laughing.

"Mia! Maker's mercy, woman, why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I was under stern orders." There were tears shining in her eyes, and Cullen's eyes were suspiciously wet, as well. Antonia got down off her horse in a corner of the courtyard, hoping to avoid notice. "Much as I'm glad to be here, I can't take credit for the idea." She looked over her shoulder in Antonia's direction, and Cullen followed her gaze.

Antonia bit her lip shyly, suddenly worried that he would be upset that she'd gone behind his back this way.

Cullen squeezed his sister's shoulder, bringing her over to where Antonia stood. "You two have met, then?"

"We chatted. Briefly."

"I wanted to make sure she got in all right," Antonia said.

"And this was your idea?" he asked softly.

She nodded. "The rest of it, too."

"What rest of it?" Cullen looked from one to the other.

Mia said, "Father, and Jared, and my husband and my two youngest. They'll be up tomorrow." She laughed in delight at the look on his face. "Mother didn't feel up to the trip—she's gotten very feeble—and Ariel stayed behind to keep an eye on everything, but the rest of us couldn't pass up the invitation."

Cullen was looking at Antonia with an odd look on his face—happiness, and wonder, and shyness, and consternation, all together.

"Oh, kiss her already if you've a mind to," his sister said. His ears turned red, and she laughed at him. "'Stop prying,' you said, as if that wasn't a dead giveaway, and the Inquisitor here told me the rest."

"Please, call me Antonia."

"And I'm Mia."

"And I am absolutely ... You never cease to be surprising," Cullen said. He reached for Antonia, cupping her face with his hand and bending over to kiss her. "Thank you, love."

"Happy Wintersend," she said, smiling at him. "And now, Commander, on Inquisitor's orders you are relieved from duty. Go catch up with your sister."

"Aye, ser." With another delighted smile and a squeeze of his beloved sister's shoulder, he took her into the keep.


	60. Family

_This one was also a lot of fun to write - I hope it's as much fun to read. Thanks to all of you for reading, and particularly to those of you who have set the story to favorites and alerts and who take the time to review. _

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_31 Wintersend, 9:42_

"Inquisitor? We're ready for you." Flissa looked understandably nervous; this was the culmination of a lot of her hard work, and the jumping-off point for a lot more. But it was good work, and seeing how happy Cullen and Josephine were showing their families around Skyhold made Antonia very glad she'd had this idea in the first place.

"All right." Antonia followed Flissa into the main hall, where they had crammed as many of Skyhold's people as possible. Tables spilled out into the upper courtyard, as well, fulfilling Antonia's vision of the first Wintersend at Skyhold as a time for everyone currently in residence to be together. She hoped the outlying camps were doing the same—money and supplies had been sent to each location for a feast, and she was having dispatches sent out to let all those staffing those camps know that they, too, were eligible for a leave on a rolling basis.

The people—her people—stood and applauded as Antonia stepped into the room, and she was glad she had scrapped her original intention of simply wearing her usual jacket and pants for a more festive gown of green wool. She wanted them to see that this was a special occasion for her, as she hoped it was for them.

Someone started tapping on a water jug to get everyone's attention—Varric, she suspected, although she couldn't see him—and soon the room quieted enough for Antonia to be heard. "Inquisition! Happy Wintersend!"

They all cheered.

"We've been here in Skyhold for half a year now, and although the circumstances of our arrival weren't what any of us would have hoped for ... we have made the best of our situation. The improvements to Skyhold have been a testament to everyone's hard work and to what we can create when we all work together."

More cheering; Antonia waited for it to settle.

"I know you're all anxious to get to the feast—it smells amazing. So I'll be brief. I want to say thank you to each and every one of you for your hard work, your devotion to our cause, your support. I may be the Inquisitor, but you are the Inquisition, and your work is what has made us such a powerful force for peace in Thedas. I hope you are all as proud of yourselves as I am of all of you."

"We're proud of you, lass!" came a shout from one of the tables. It sounded like Harritt, the smith, and Antonia smiled in his direction.

"Thank you! And because I'm so proud of all of you, I want you to be able to show off the home you have worked to create to your families and loved ones. As my Wintersend gift to all of you, each one of you will be given the opportunity to invite your families to visit you here—or, if you prefer, to take a leave of absence to go home."

The cheering was loud and long, this time, accompanied by applause.

"Flissa here is in charge," Antonia shouted once she thought she could be heard. "She has been making a list of everyone in the Inquisition—a long and thankless job—and drawn up a preliminary schedule. Please, please, let her do her job fairly. Everyone will get a turn, I promise. And now, to the feast!"

There was a pleased hum and a clatter of dishes as people began passing plates and serving themselves. Antonia hoped there was enough food. It looked like a lot right now, but she knew her people had hearty appetites—something about the mountain air.

She walked along the tables, exchanging greetings here and there, until she came to the one where her companions were seated, along with the Iron Bull's Chargers. "You all are included in the leaves and visits; I hope you know that."

"My dear, a masterful plan. You have these people eating out of your hand," Vivienne said.

"As long as no one invites my family on my behalf." Dorian frowned at the gravy, then ladled it over his potatoes. "Some day we will have to have some fine Tevinter cooking. With some lovely garum sauce." He sighed.

"Isn't that made from fermented fish?" The Iron Bull shook his head. "You Vints eat some strange food." He picked up a massive rack of ribs, biting into the meat with gusto, the juices and sauce running down his chin.

"Happy Wintersend," Antonia said to all of them. She patted Cole on the shoulder as he was staring at a spear of asparagus, appearing to wait for it to speak to him, and moved on, smiling at Varric over everyone else's heads. She had plans for him, as well, having heard him wistfully talk about what it would be like to be in Weisshaupt with Hawke, and had quashed her jealousy of the older warrior and her hold on Varric's heart enough to send a message that direction.

Having completed her rounds, Antonia turned her steps toward Josephine's private dining room, which the ambassador had generously offered to share with Cullen and his family for this evening's feast.

Morrigan and Leliana were conspicuous in their absence this evening, neither one being much for celebrations. If there was anything Antonia regretted about this plan and its particular timing, it was that her advisors yet again weren't present for a bonding experience with the people. But that was her role, to bring the Inquisition to everyone; theirs was to remain somewhat aloof, to allow themselves a distance she couldn't have.

No one noticed the door opening at first, and Antonia took the opportunity to lean against the doorframe and watch Cullen with his family. His brother Jared was as dark as Cullen was fair, and evidently the trickster of the family. He had tried to torment Cullen already on this short visit by colluding with their nephews to put frozen frogs in Cullen's desk drawer, a snake in his bed, and grease on the rungs of the ladder leading to the loft. Unfortunately for Jared's plans, Cullen had spent that particular night in Antonia's quarters, and had caught it all the next morning when he came back to the office.

Cullen's father had once been as tall and broad-shouldered as Cullen himself, that much was clear from his carriage, but years of hard labor on the farm had worn him down. It made Cullen sad to look at him, Antonia could see, and he treated his father with a gentleness and a deference that she had never seen in him before.

In his turn, Garrick Rutherford couldn't keep his eyes off his son. His pride in Cullen shone from them for everyone to see. Antonia tried not to contrast those looks to the indifference that had been typical from her own father; she watched the loud, merry group at that end of the table and tried not to think of decorous, quiet, proper family meals in her own home.

Josephine and her family were loud, as well, with a particularly wine-soaked Antivan flavor to their chatter, and yet they lacked the ease and the genuineness of the Rutherfords. Was it a Fereldan thing, Antonia wondered, or was it simply that they all truly liked each other?

She caught the eye of Mia's husband John, who sat back watching quietly. Antonia had only heard him speak a few words since their arrival—but Mia talked enough for both of them, so that was little surprise. He seemed to enjoy letting the talk flow around him. And Cullen, for a wonder, was right in the middle of it all, telling stories and shouting over his sister to be heard, as though he'd seen them all yesterday and not twenty years ago. It was a whole new side of him, and Antonia cherished it.

John got up, crossing the room toward her. "They don't bite."

"I didn't think they did. I don't want to disturb anything." She smiled a little. "The presence of the Inquisitor has a tendency to silence merry conversation, which is one of the few drawbacks of the position."

"I can see that."

"Besides ... he's not usually like this," she added, looking at Cullen. "I wouldn't have guessed a year ago that he could be that ... animated."

"Dark times."

"Yes. And a lot of them. He didn't write your wife much during those times, did he?" John shook his head, and Antonia said, "He's done amazing work here. Everything you see—the furnishings, the soldiers, the food, the fortifications—Cullen did that. He took Skyhold on as his personal project. If it's a home for the Inquisition, it's because he made it one."

"For you." It wasn't a question.

Antonia blushed. "Well, maybe, partly. But also ... I think he missed having a home, and a family. He talks about your wife, and he just brightens."

"You did good," John said. "Now, come on." He put a hand on her elbow, leading her across the room.

"Ah, there you are." Cullen's face lit at the sight of her, and she couldn't help touching him, putting her hand on his shoulder, pressing him back down into his chair as he rose with his usual courtesy. As she had predicted, however, the merriment ceased on her arrival. "How was the speech?"

"Short. To everyone's relief, I think."

He put his hand over hers. "Can you stay, or do you need to make the rounds?"

Not wanting to put a damper on their reunion, Antonia gratefully seized the excuse. "Oh, I think I should go and—"

"Of course she'll stay." Mia stood up and collected a chair from farther down the table, sliding it in between Cullen's and her own. "Even an Inquisitor needs to eat, and I'll bet you haven't had a bite."

"That's true, but ..." There was no arguing with Cullen's sister, however, so Antonia took the offered chair with a smile.

Mia overlooked the filling of her plate with a frown. "Neither one of you eats enough to keep a bird alive. How do you run an Inquisition on no food and no sleep?"

Cullen chuckled. "As far as I can tell, that's the only way to do it. There's not a lot of time for either, really."

"I remember you eating us out of house and home," Mia said.

"I was thirteen."

"Remember how relieved I was when he left?" Jared asked. "It was the first time I'd gotten enough to eat in half an age." He grinned at his brother.

"You used to steal food right off my plate!"

"Exactly. Because I was starving."

"Hardly. You outweighed me by two stone."

"I did not!"

"Did so!"

"Boys," said their father, gently, and Cullen and his brother looked at each other shame-facedly. Their father chuckled. "Besides which, if anyone consumed more than their full portion, it was Ariel."

"Oh, that is so true," Jared said. "And then you'd find her in the pantry afterward, claiming to still be starving."

"How is she?" Cullen asked.

"Quite well. She's got a little one on the way, her fourth. Her husband's a miller, so they do well for themselves."

Antonia sat quietly, listening to them catch up, feeling rather out of place amongst the easy conversation. It reminded her of being out with Varric and Dorian and the Iron Bull more than anything she had ever experienced with her own family. But Cullen was deep amidst the banter, and that was what she had wanted, so she was content just to watch him.

Mia's two boys seemed overawed by most of the Inquisition; they'd spent their time so far clinging to John and Jared. Antonia had yet to hear more than a few words from either of them. Now they both asked permission to be excused so they could go see the dwarf and the big crossbow, and Antonia smiled. It surprised her not at all that Varric would be the one the children would flock to.

After a while Flissa came to the door and beckoned to her, and Antonia excused herself. "Inquisitor, when do you want to start the dancing?"

"Has everyone finished eating?"

"Yes, I think so. The dishes are mostly empty."

"We didn't run out of food?"

"Not quite, although the Iron Bull tried his best."

"Well, that's a relief. Why don't you have the musicians start tuning up, and get some of the big strong warrior types out there to start moving the tables. Good exercise after their meal." Flissa nodded, looking as though that was going to be a harder task than it sounded, and Antonia called after her, "Remember, 'Inquisitor's orders'!"

She was glad to see Flissa laugh as she hurried off.

Antonia turned around, almost colliding with Cullen as he was coming up behind her. "Everything all right?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Just—this is my party, and I want to stay on top of things."

"No, I meant ... over there, you're so quiet."

She smiled at him, putting a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm fine—I was enjoying listening. Remember, I'm not part of the family."

Something wistful darkened his eyes briefly, and Antonia held her breath, afraid he was going to remark on that in a way that would bring the shadows of the future into the present, but he let it go. "Have I told you how beautiful you look in that dress?" he said instead. "Which is a shame, really."

"It is? Why is that?"

He leaned closer to her, and in a low, intimate voice whispered, "Because all I can think of is how much I want to take you upstairs and take it off you ... very, _very_ slowly."

"Oh." Desire, sweet and hot, stabbed through her. "Well, now that's all I can think of, too."

"Good."

"And you call me wicked," she grumbled. His triumphant chuckle only increased the ache inside her. "I ... really should go and make the rounds again."

Over his shoulder she heard his brother's voice, and she peeked around Cullen to see Jared approaching. "Mind some company?"

"Not at all. Be prepared for a lot of people to sing your brother's praises."

Cullen flushed. "She exaggerates," he muttered.

"Not in the least."

"I'll see for myself, then." Jared shooed his brother off. "Mia already got to pass judgment. Now it's my turn. Maybe I'll steal your lady right out from under your nose."

Cullen raised an eyebrow. "If you can last two rounds in the sparring ring with her, you have my blessing to try."

"He wins sometimes," Antonia said conspiratorially to Jared, who laughed.

"Can't say I haven't been warned, then."

Antonia moved off toward the tables, which were already being cleared, and Jared matched her stride. He limped rather badly, she had noticed that before. Now, noticing her glance, he said, "Battle of Denerim, back in the Blight. Lost a lot of good men to Blight sickness and the sodding darkspawn. Hard to get away from that."

"I imagine so."

"Cullen seems like his old self. Can't imagine that was easy for him. You do that?"

"Some of it, or so I like to think."

"I bet more than some. I know what kind of nightmares I live with, and I was a soldier in a war that ended a long time ago. Cullen was inside the tower watching people he knew become ... something other than people, and then the whole mess in Kirkwall." He nodded somberly. "I'll bet he went through some dark days. Not that he told us much about them. Never was one to talk about himself. 'Course, for all we all seemed so grown-up to ourselves, he was just a nipper when he left, not much older than Mia's boys there. Hard to say what a man becomes after that."

Antonia hesitated, not sure she should share something so personal, but decided it was only right. She dug in her pocket and took out the coin Cullen had given her. "Do you remember this?"

Jared took it from her, peering at it. "This—is a coin." He frowned down at it, then glanced at her with surprise. "Wait. This the one I gave him?"

Antonia nodded, reaching to take it back. Foolish it might have been, but she felt better when it was in her possession again. "He held on to it all that time. He told me it was the only personal thing he took with him to Kirkwall."

"You don't say." Jared looked up at the ceiling, smiling and shaking his head. "The little things you do. I just ... I remember wanting to do something, but I was only a boy myself, too embarrassed to tell him how much I was going to miss him."

"You did the right thing. I think this coin got him through a lot of dark nights." She laughed a little. "When he told me it was for luck, I said it hadn't worked, that he hadn't been very fortunate, and he said he should have died multiple times over, but he hadn't, and he called that luck. The man I met last winter wouldn't have called himself lucky."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Miss Antonia, seeing the way you look at him, I shouldn't wonder he calls himself lucky. Many a man waits a lifetime and more to be looked at like that." He looked down at her sharply. "Going to make it official?"

Antonia swallowed, feeling a chill in her limbs. It was almost superstitious, this fear she had of talking about the future, but knowing it was foolish didn't make it go away. "Until we defeat Corypheus and his archdemon, this is as official as it gets."

"Understood, Inquisitor. If an old soldier can help, you'll let me know, yeah?"

"Absolutely. Thank you."

The musicians were playing now, and Jared held out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

"You dance?"

"Of course. Not that a bachelor like me gets much chance, but can't let that stop you."

"Maybe you could teach your brother."

He laughed. "Templar-boy doesn't dance, eh? The more fool he."

She moved into Jared's arms, laughing as he swept her around in the opening moves of the dance. "Ex-Templar boy," she amended.

"That's a big deal. Never thought I'd see the day—I about fell over when Mia got the letter saying he was jumping ship for the Inquisition."

"They didn't treat him well. Or anyone, really, but Cullen ran into particularly bad times."

"So I gather." He grinned over her shoulder. "And there's little brother now."

Antonia looked over her shoulder at Cullen, who had come out with Mia. She was dragging him out toward the dancers, and he was protesting all the way.

"This should be interesting. He's the only person I ever met more stubborn than she is."

And sure enough, Cullen won the battle, and Mia took her husband out to dance instead, while Cullen came over to Jared and Antonia. "May I cut in?"

"Thought you didn't dance, little brother."

"It looks as though I have to dance with someone."

"Well, let me just leave the two of you to it," Antonia said, stepping away from Jared.

Cullen swept an arm around her waist, pulling her against him. "Not a chance."

Antonia laughed, following his moves as he spun her around. "I think you're a terrible liar, Commander. I believe you can dance after all."

"I believe you're very inspiring, Inquisitor." He whispered in her ear, "This is quite the party, and you've outdone yourself, but I confess—I wish it were just the two of us."

She looked up at him, loving the happiness in his face, the shadows banished, at least for now. "Wait for later; it will be."


	61. Today with Her

_Thank you all for reading! I'm glad you're enjoying Cullen's family as much as I have.  
_

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_1 Guardian, 9:42_

Cullen woke as the first rays of dawn peeked over the top of the mountains, and lay in bed watching the sun rise. Antonia slept next to him, breathing deeply—a less courteous man might have considered it a snore—and he didn't want to disturb her, not after having kept her up very late last night peeling that dress off her body bit by delectable bit.

And that was after staying up after the party with Jared and some of Antonia's companions, drinking and telling stories. It was so good to see his brother again, and his sister, and his father, even though he wouldn't have recognized his father if he'd seen him under other circumstances. The big strong man Cullen remembered was gone, replaced by someone far more frail. It occurred to Cullen with a bit of a shock that the last time he had seen his father, he had been about Cullen's current age, and had looked a lot like Cullen did now. Would he look like that in another twenty years?

He turned his head to look at Antonia. As she kept saying, there was no guarantee any of them would survive another twenty years. He hated to see that darkness in her; he'd have felt more comfortable if he could have taken it inside himself, instead, and left her in the light. But you couldn't do what she did every day without some fear beginning to shadow you, he supposed, or live with the burden she did without a dread of what would happen if you let that burden slip.

Cullen would gladly have stayed there in bed a lot longer. Until she woke up, for instance. But the Inquisition didn't stop for the holiday, and his desk was piling up with dispatches and reports that needed to be dealt with. If he got up now, he could get an hour or two of work in before his family was awake.

He slid out from under the covers, dressing as quietly as he could. Antonia stirred briefly, shifting into the warmth of his side of the bed and burying her face in his pillow, and then she went back to sleep.

On the way through the main hall, he filled a plate with a few things for breakfast, and took the shortcut through Solas's room to his office, pausing to say hello to the elf briefly on his way through. He didn't think Solas approved of him in specific, or his role in general, but the elf was unfailingly polite.

Cullen pushed open the door to his office, and nearly dropped his plate when he saw his father sitting there behind his desk. For a moment, he was thirteen again, certain he had done something terribly wrong.

"There you are. It was my impression that this ... ruin was where you slept."

"Uh ... usually, I do, ser, but ... um ..." Somehow it seemed wrong to admit to his casual cohabitation with Antonia in front of his father.

"But last night you spent with the Inquisitor." His father chuckled, getting up from Cullen's chair. "Come sit down and have your breakfast, son."

"Yes, ser." Maker, it really was just like being thirteen again. Only worse, because at thirteen he wasn't spending the night with girls.

"I like her quite a bit; she's a quiet one, but we can use a few of those. Mia likes her, too, and so does Jared, so I'm sure your mother will approve. And it's a bit late in the day for me to be approving or disapproving of where you spend your nights. Are you going to marry her?"

Cullen put the plate down, debating how open to be. But ... he hadn't really had anyone to talk about this with, and this was the kind of thing a man looked to his father for advice on. "I hope so, ser, very much, but it's not something we can talk of right now." He sank down in his chair, motioning his father to the other one.

"Why not?"

"Because of her position as Inquisitor. Antonia is afraid to talk about the future. She seems to feel that if we do, then she'll be too ... anchored to it." Ironic, he thought, that the word anchor had come to mind, since it was the Anchor on her hand that had started all this. "And unable to face down Corypheus the way she needs to."

"Can't someone else do it? She seems awfully small for such a task."

Cullen laughed. "You haven't seen her on the training ground. Did you see the big Qunari at dinner last night?" At his father's nod, he said, "I've watched her lay him flat on the ground in a sparring match." Sobering, he added, "And she can't let someone else do it. She's the one with the mark on her hand that closes the rifts in the sky, and that's not something she can let go of. I know it bothers her, and ... " He studied his plate, uncomfortable sharing such a deeply personal admission even with his own father. "I'd rather have today with her than a lifetime with someone else. So I don't think about the future any more than I can help." That was a lie, really—he thought about the future probably more than was healthy for him—but he didn't like to admit it.

"Ah, son, nothing comes easy for you, does it? It never did, not when you were a tiny lad still in long dresses. Of course, you always reached higher than the others, too ... and when you couldn't succeed, you went back and studied and tried again until you did."

They were quiet for a moment, and Cullen dug into his breakfast, eyeing the stack of papers to see how dire the top one was.

"You've done good work here; anyone can see it. We hear about the Inquisition, of course, and I say 'that's my boy,' but it's different to be here and see what you've managed to make happen."

"It hasn't been just me."

"Well, no." His father looked down at his hands. "You've had a long road, son, and there were times when your mother and I ... when we didn't know if you were alive or dead and we wished we had never allowed you to go to the Templars. Do you regret that choice?"

"No, ser." The answer came to his lips before he had time to think about it, but on reflecting, Cullen agreed with it. "I could have done without some of the experiences the Templars led me to, but in the end, they led me here. I don't know if I could do this job without the knowledge I gained as a Templar."

"Any messages for your mother?"

"Just ... I wish she could have come. And I promise, whenever this is over, I'll come to South Reach to see her."

"How long will that be?"

"It's hard to say, Father. I'd like to hope we could defeat Corypheus soon, but we have to be sure we can win before we go into a final conflict. The battle at Haven was ... close." He could see Antonia's pale, determined face in his mind's eye, and he shivered. "I don't want to go through that again."

"All right. Now I'm going to let you get back to work, since I can see you looking at those papers. Don't work too hard."

"I won't, ser."

"Cullen?" His father had stopped in the doorway and was looking back at him.

"Yes, Father?"

"I don't suppose ... in your Inquisition, do you need any—help?"

"What kind of help?"

"It's your brother. Since the Blight, he's ... he's a good boy, but he has no purpose. Does odd jobs, helps out the family, but he's never settled at any one thing. If you could find a place where he could make a difference ... Well, just think about it."

"I will."

His father left the office, and Cullen picked up the top report. Jared in the Inquisition? It wasn't something he had thought about before, but it was an intriguing idea. He made a mental note to talk to his brother again later about it, and then dismissed the topic from his mind and got to work.

He tried to avoid getting drawn into the routine so he wouldn't spend too much of the day in his office, aiming for an hour of solid work to get through as much of the stack as possible, but it was closer to two hours before he felt he had done enough for the moment.

There was a cluster of people around the training ring, and he peered over the edge of the battlement to see who was in there. The Iron Bull was easy—no one looked quite like him—and the other person Cullen recognized as Antonia. He quickened his steps; the two of them were always entertaining, and he had identified Jared and his two nephews among the group that had formed.

The Iron Bull had just taken a heavy blow to the body as Cullen reached the ring, taking with a grunt a hit that would have knocked out a smaller man.

"You going to get in there and help her out?" Jared asked him by way of greeting.

Hoots of derision from the Inquisition spectators greeted the question, and Cullen shook his head. "No. She doesn't need any help from me."

"I do," the Iron Bull called out. He dodged a swipe of the practice sword just in time. "Come on, Cullen."

Antonia raised her eyebrows at him in challenge, and Cullen grinned. "All right, Bull. Maybe the two of us can take her." He wanted to show his brother, and his father, who had come to join the group, that Antonia was more than the shy little bird who had sat with them at dinner last night, more than the cool patrician Inquisitor. And he wanted to show his little nephews never to discount a woman just because she might be smaller than they were.

"That'll be the day," Varric said from the other side of the ring.

"No, we can do it. I'd bet on us if it was allowed," said the Iron Bull.

"You'd be the only one, Chief." Krem was watching, too, with little Scout Harding by his side as she so often was when she was in Skyhold.

Cullen donned a set of training pads and picked up a sword and shield. "Are you ready, Inquisitor?"

Her eyes sparkling, Antonia didn't wait for him to get set before she clipped him in the side. He had almost anticipated the move, but hadn't quite gotten his shield up in time.

"She fights dirty, Commander." The Iron Bull grinned with pride. "I taught her that."

"I bet you regret it now." They both faced off against her, the field narrowing to the three of them.

"No hard feelings when we beat you, right, boss?"

Antonia ignored the Iron Bull's taunt. Her face was serious, focused, as she watched the two of them for the slightest move. Cullen feinted to the right, but she had seen that from him before and dodged the shield bash that followed, dancing out of the Bull's reach just in time to avoid his sword-thrust.

"Come on, Quizzy-quiz! Dance and weave, show 'em how a girl does it," Sera called from her window in the inn. She leaned her elbows on the sill to watch the show.

Deftly Antonia spun the weapon in her hands, catching the Iron Bull in the side with the end of the handle and sweeping around so that the blade nearly caught Cullen in the chest. This time he got his shield up in time, deflecting the blow with enough force to send her staggering back. She recovered quickly, though, and blocked his next strike.

The problem with the two-handed weapon, of course, was that she had no way to block the Iron Bull's next thrust while she was grappling with Cullen. With a vicious twist of her blade, she disengaged from Cullen's. He nearly dropped the sword, his hand stinging. She danced around behind him, leaving Cullen open to the Iron Bull's blow, which struck his shield before Bull could pull up.

There was a laugh and a cheer from the spectators, with particularly derisive hoots coming from Cullen's little nephews. He found he didn't mind at all having them laugh at him on Antonia's behalf.

Antonia didn't pause, however; this was serious business for her, training against multiple opponents, and she wasn't going to give them an inch. While Cullen and the Iron Bull were still turning toward her, she had darted behind them again, and they felt the edge of the practice blade across the back of their necks.

"Never let your opponent get behind you, isn't that what you've said, Commander?" she asked breathlessly.

The Iron Bull looked down at him sadly. "No offense, Commander, but I was doing better without you."

"You were not," Krem said.

"Please. My manly feelings."

"_Your_ manly feelings?" Cullen said, feigning annoyance, but truthfully he was overwhelmingly proud of her—not least because he had been the one supervising her training for the last year, and she would never have been able to handle both of them a year ago.

"I'm sorry," Antonia whispered as they put away their gear. "Should I have let you win?"

"Never."

"Good. You know how competitive I am."

"Yes, I do." If there hadn't been so many spectators still standing around, he would have kissed her. "Besides, I've won before."

"Only because my hair was in my eyes."

"In combat, the reasons why are less important than the results," he said seriously.

"I know that, thank you."

"Bull was going easy on you."

"So were you; usually you make me work a lot harder than that. Trying to make me look good for your family?" He looked at her, startled, and she smiled. "I don't think they could tell, but I could."

"Speaking of—my father wants us to offer Jared a job."

"Jared said as much last night. How do you feel about that?"

Cullen frowned. "It sounds like a good idea—but I wouldn't want to rush into anything because he's my brother."

"Given that limp, he should be here in Skyhold. Do you need an assistant?"

"My big brother as my assistant?"

She grinned at him. "You know you love that idea. We could find something else, though, if you think that's too close to work together after such a long time."

The spectators had largely dispersed, and they were more or less alone in the little shed where the practice gear was kept. Cullen tipped her chin up with his fingers. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Everything." He kissed her, softly at first, but when she immediately went on her toes to press herself into the kiss, it deepened.

She drew away eventually, regretfully. "I think people are waiting for you."

"I suppose they are."

"We'll pick this back up tonight, then?"

"Oh, yes."

They left the little shed together, and found Jared and Cullen's father still waiting by the training ring. "Impressive, son. And you, too, Inquisitor."

"He taught me—well, not everything I know, but a lot of it."

"Don't listen to her. She came here after training with one of the finest swordsmen in the Free Marches." Cullen ruffled her hair. "And if she remembers to keep her bangs cut, she's unbeatable."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears." Antonia bowed to the other two men. "If you'll both excuse me—a thousand things to do today."

"She's leaving in a few days for Orlais," Cullen said in explanation as she headed up into the keep.

"And you stay behind and let her go?" Jared frowned.

"I do. She's got an important job out there, bringing the Inquisition to the people; my job is here, building the Inquisition from the inside out."

"Wouldn't you rather be with her?" his father asked.

"Yes, and no. Yes, because I'd want to protect her. No ... because I'd want to protect her. It would be hard to let her fight the way she needs to and put herself in the kind of danger that gets results, if I was there to see it. She's got good people at her back whenever she goes, and they keep her out of trouble as much as they can." Clearing his throat to indicate a change of subject, he said, "Shall we go find Mia? I think she wanted a tour of the gardens."


	62. Good Luck Charm

_Some warm, fluffy fluff to take you into the weekend. Enjoy, and thanks so much for reading!  
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_4 Guardian, 9:42_

"You'll write more often?" Mia asked anxiously. She was clinging to Cullen's upper arms as if reluctant to let her brother go.

"I'll try."

"I know what that means. It means no," she grumbled. Turning to Antonia, she said, "You'll write occasionally and keep us informed if anything happens we should know about?"

"Yes, I will."

"Good. You I believe." Mia let go of Cullen and hugged Antonia. "And when this is all over, you'll both come to South Reach? I know my mother will want to meet you."

Antonia pushed down her fears and nodded. "We'll do our best."

"All right, then."

Jared leaned down and pecked Antonia on the cheek. "Goodbye, sis. Take care of him, will you?"

"'Sis'? Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

"Close enough." He grinned.

"Besides, you'll come back in a couple of months so we can put you to work, right?"

"Yeah, if you can find something for me to do."

"It's a big Inquisition."

"I thought I got a say in this," Cullen said. He hugged his brother, then shook hands with John and the boys.

"We'll talk about it later." Antonia turned to Cullen's father, who put a hand on her shoulder.

"You two take care of each other."

"Yes, ser."

Cullen reached to embrace his father, who put a hand on his cheek. "I'm proud of you, son."

"Thank you, Father."

Everyone was loaded into the cart, except for Mia, who waited for the last hug. She and Cullen held on to each other for a long moment before she let go and took John's hand, allowing herself to be pulled up into the cart.

Antonia stood next to Cullen, watching as the cart rolled out of the gates of Skyhold. "You sure you don't want to ride down to the checkpoint with them?"

"No. Extended goodbyes ... they make me nervous."

She nodded. "I can see that. Back to work, then?"

"Not quite yet." As the gates closed, Cullen turned to her. "I haven't given you my Wintersend gift."

"Please tell me you didn't send for my family."

"No. Should I have?"

"No! Definitely not. Flissa has stern orders to resist any such attempts."

"Don't you want to see them?"

Antonia sighed. "Eventually, I suppose. But not for a while. It's not that I don't like them, as such, just that ... they didn't really know me before, and they really don't know me now, and it would be awkward. And I'd rather save awkward for later."

"Well, it isn't your family." He put his arm around her shoulders, and Antonia thrilled to the casual contact. It wasn't long ago that he wouldn't have done that in the middle of the courtyard.

"Then where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"My quarters are the other way."

Cullen laughed. "It's not always about that."

"You have to admit, it's often about that."

"Yes, well, you have a point."

They were approaching the stables. Cullen led her around the corner to a smaller building.

"You didn't know these were here, did you?"

"I don't know what they are."

"That's because you're not Fereldan. These, my light, are kennels. Mabari kennels."

"Cullen, I love puppies as much as the next person, but I really don't have time for—"

"Not puppy. Mabari. Very different thing." He pushed open the door. "Mabari are wardogs; they grow fast, and once a mabari imprints on a person, they are loyal to the death. They're also nigh indestructible."

Antonia thought of the occasional mabari she had encountered in her travels. They were definitely tough opponents. But the idea of training and caring for a dog ... she really had enough on her plate. Still, Cullen seemed so pleased with the idea. And the puppies were adorable.

"I didn't know we had mabari kennels," she said, watching the puppies gambol.

"They're relatively new. It was my idea," Cullen said, "but when I broached it to Leliana she was enthusiastic. They had a mabari during the Blight—Thomas had saved him at Ostagar—so she understood what the breed can add to combat, and between us we managed to convince Josephine it was a good idea."

"So do I get to pick which one I want?" Antonia already thought she knew which one she liked best, a big sooty black fellow who was in the thick of the scrap.

The kennel-master laughed. "It doesn't work that way, my lady. Even for you. You see, the dog picks. When a mabari imprints on you—well, there's no more loyal companion. But they look at things in a person we humans don't see. I've seen a mabari reject a high-born lady and imprint instead on her elven servant." He looked sad. "I don't think that ended well for any of them, more's the pity."

"What happens if the dog doesn't imprint on someone?"

"Then we train them as a unit, and they go into battle."

"Fereldans have fought with mabari units for ages," Cullen said. "I think they improve morale in the army, and because they don't respond the way humans do ... it helps."

"What the Commander's tryin' not to say is that a man's less likely to run if there's a dog standin' stalwart at his side."

"Something like that."

Antonia glanced at Cullen, who was watching the puppies, a smile on his handsome face. One of the puppies growled, the sound so completely ineffectual that Cullen laughed, and Antonia's heart swelled with happiness watching him look so young. "All right, we'll see if one of the puppies imprints on me ... but only if the Commander does, too."

"What? No. No, what do I need a mabari for?"

"You never know. Maybe just for companionship—" She thought of the nights she wasn't in residence. If Cullen had a small furry companion with him, maybe the nightmares would be easier. But she didn't want to say that in front of the kennel-master. "Or maybe just because you want one."

He looked down at her. "This is supposed to be your present."

"Yes, but wouldn't it be nicer if we each had one? They could be company for each other. I'm sure they'd be happier together." Mostly, she just wanted him to have one because it would make him happy, and she wasn't leaving here until he agreed to at least try.

"All right." Cullen smiled. "You're very difficult to say no to."

"Then I've succeeded." She couldn't tear her eyes away from him, the moment stretching between them as they looked at each other.

When Antonia finally did manage to wipe the foolish grin off her face, the kennel-master was looking discreetly away from them, tending one of the smaller puppies.

Antonia cleared her throat. "How old are they, anyway?"

"About ten weeks. I'd want to give them a bit more training here in the kennels, say another couple of weeks, and then once they imprint on someone, there will have to be a further course of training for dog and human." He said it deferentially but firmly, giving the clear impression that there would be no change in the system for the Inquisition leadership.

"Understood. I wouldn't want to interfere with someone doing their job properly."

"Good. Then, my lady, would you like to step in and see how the pups take to you?"

She still had her eye on the big sooty black one. He was an aggressive one, clearly the cock of the walk among the puppies, and she liked the intelligence she saw in his face. Without entirely meaning to, she moved toward him when she stepped inside the pen.

"Just stand still for a moment, let them get used to you," the kennel-master said.

The puppies scattered when she first stepped in, but after a moment they went back to their play, ignoring her. All but the big black one, who came over and sniffed around her feet. He sat back on his haunches, looked up at her, and growled, not angrily, but questioningly. Antonia looked at him, and he looked at her, and she had the strange sense that he was sizing her up, trying to decide if she was the bigger dog. She held his gaze firmly; she wasn't about to be stared down by a puppy.

She raised her eyebrows. "Well?" she asked him.

He woofed, as much as to say 'don't rush me', cocking his head to the side as he studied her. Then, with a decisive bark, he rolled over onto his back, presenting his stomach to be rubbed. Antonia bent, feeling the warm skin and soft fur under her fingers, and the puppy sighed happily.

"He's all yours, Inquisitor." The kennel-master was looking at her with surprise and respect. "He's the top dog around here; has had all the others under his paw since just about birth. Beggin' your pardon, my lady, but I wouldn't have thought he'd have settled for anything smaller than that Qunari fellow."

"The Iron Bull? He's a big softie at heart," Antonia said. The puppy sat up, looking at her with a business-like air. "You've got some work to do," she told him. "I'll be back in a couple of weeks, and then we'll see what happens."

He yipped, accepting the stricture, and held up a paw for her to shake.

"Do I name him, or does he choose his own name, as well?" she asked the kennel-master.

"You name him."

Antonia could feel this as a bit of a test—the kennel-master was no doubt expecting either something fluffy like Cupcake, or something expected, like Bruiser. Neither of which was exactly her cup of tea. She looked him over carefully. He reminded her of ash, that dark color with a hint of deep gray underneath. Cinders? No. Ash? Too easy to confuse with other words. Ah, she had it. She looked up, meeting Cullen's eyes, and smiled, then looked back at the puppy. "What would you say to Phoenix? The brilliant being rising from the ashes." As she someday hoped to rise from the ashes of Corypheus.

The puppy cocked his head again, and then woofed in assent.

"Phoenix. Spell that for me?" the kennel-master asked, recording it in his book. "I was callin' him Blackie, myself, but he never liked that one. Kept lookin' at me like I was crazy."

With a final pat on Phoenix's head, Antonia got up. "Your turn," she said to Cullen.

"Now I'm nervous," he said, but he stepped in anyway. The puppies didn't even bother to scatter from him—it must be the Fereldan in him, Antonia thought.

A couple of them sniffed around his boots; Antonia wondered if they could smell the shadows in him, because two of them visibly recoiled and slunk away. She was going to feel absolutely horrible if that was the case, if the darkness of his past repelled the mabari.

Then, from a corner, a small pup crawled out, inching ever closer to Cullen's foot. Antonia wasn't even sure Cullen saw her. She was a deep gold all over, a few shades darker than Cullen's hair, with one floppy ear and one that stood straight up. She crawled on her belly all the way over, sniffing cautiously.

And then she seemed to change personality altogether. From her belly she stood up on all fours, rubbing herself against Cullen's leg affectionately. Then she walked, stiff-legged, over to Phoenix and woofed in his face. Phoenix blinked, startled, and nearly fell over himself backing away.

The kennel-master watched this with a frown on his face. "Never seen anything like that before," he said. "That little miss is the runt o' the litter. Thought I'd lost her once or twice, the way the others ran her over; had to rescue her more than once. I'd about given up, truth be told."

Cullen had the puppy in his arms now, stroking her head and cupping her little face in his hand. She licked his nose, and he laughed.

"I guess she's yours, then," Antonia said, leaning on the rail of the puppy pen to watch them. "What's her name?"

"What else? Lucky. Because she's my good luck charm, yes, she is," he said to the puppy, who yipped in agreement and licked his nose again.

Antonia thought of the coin in her pocket. More than once, she had felt guilty for accepting it, after he had held on to it for so long, knowing what it meant to him. Some of his feeling for it had rubbed off on her, and she had even considered whether she should have it and risk ruining his luck. Now she wouldn't feel so bad about keeping it.

Reluctantly, Cullen put Lucky back down in the pen. She walked tall among her fellow dogs now, that was clear.

They left the kennels, walking slowly across the muddy lower courtyard. The spring thaw was coming, Antonia could smell it in the air. "Thank you," she said. "I would never have thought of that, but ... I'm glad we did it."

"Thank you." The corner of Cullen's mouth turned up. "Trust you to take something special I wanted to do for you and turn around and give it back to me."

"Oh, that doesn't bother you, does it?" Antonia took his hand, pulling him to a stop. "That's not how I meant it. But you wanted one, and I thought, if you had someone with you while I wasn't here it might help with the nightmares, and ..."

"Yes, and you were absolutely right, and that was a lovely thought. I love her already. I just ... you are already such an incredible, unexpected gift, and then ... what you did, bringing my family here—I am so much in your debt already. I just wanted to do something surprising and unexpected for you, the way you are constantly doing for me."

Antonia reached up, touching the side of his face. Cullen closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against her fingers. "You do," she said softly. "Every day. Look at my quarters—you did that for me—and Skyhold, and my training, and the way you're always so patient with me, and— You are so generous with your time and attention, despite all the things you always have to do, and you don't even know what gifts you give. More than that—Cullen, I'm not keeping score. I'm not thinking that if I do something for you, you need to do something for me. You've done so much already, and you do so much all the time, I could never catch up in a thousand ages if I thought that way. But I don't. I think that your happiness makes me happy, and I want to give you as much of it as I can while I can."

"Maker," he whispered. There was a suspicious sheen in his eyes, until he blinked it away. "What did I do to deserve you?"

She grinned. "Well, according to your sister, you were a very, _very_ naughty little boy."

His eyes warmed with the fire she loved. "Let's go." He put a hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the stairs to the upper courtyard.

"Where are we going?"

"As you pointed out earlier, your quarters are this way."

"Why, Commander Cullen, I think I've been a bad influence on you."

"You know something, Inquisitor Trevelyan? I think you're right."


	63. The Good Future

_Thanks to all of you for reading!  
_

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_16 Guardian, 9:42_

Antonia and Cullen stood on the battlements, leaning against the stone wall, while the puppies wrestled at their feet. It was a constant struggle for dominance between Lucky and Phoenix, although neither of them won consistently.

Antonia had been concerned about the two pups together, but the kennel-master explained that working mabari, such as these two, were generally fixed with magic to ensure that they didn't breed without specific permission. He had gone on about breeding and bloodlines, but at that point Phoenix had started chewing on her bootlace and the discussion had turned to discipline and training instead.

"How were the Emerald Graves?" Cullen asked.

"In a word, giants. I hate giants. Almost as much as I hate dragons." She sighed.

"I'm sorry."

She smiled at him. "Where was all this concern when I got in last night?"

"I had ... other things on my mind." He put his hands on her hips and drew her back against him, the warmth of his body soaking into her.

"I'll say you did. I certainly never have to wonder whether you missed me while I was gone."

"Good. That's the general idea." Cullen's mouth found the side of her neck, working his way slowly upward.

Antonia gasped in delight, tilting her head to let him keep doing what he was doing. "Commander," she said breathlessly, "it's broad daylight."

"Hm. I suppose you're right." With a nip at her earlobe, he let go. "Later, then."

"If you insist."

"I do, as a matter of fact."

She smiled at him, leaning against the opening of the battlement and looking down at the road. Only one person was on it right now, a single pilgrim in a bedraggled dark cloak. He had a grizzled dark grey mabari at his side, the dog moving more slowly than the person, who kept pausing to wait for the animal to catch up.

Cullen leaned over Antonia's shoulder, looking down as well, and she heard him catch his breath.

"Maker's mercy! It can't be."

"What?"

"That's—do you know who that is?"

"No."

He whispered it in her ear, even though there was no one to hear them. "That is Thomas Amell. I'd swear to it—that's his mabari, Irving, for sure, and where Irving is, Thomas must be."

Antonia grinned. "That Varric. The man ought to be bronzed."

"Did you do this?"

"You had your family; Josephine had her family. Who was I going to bring in for Leliana? So I asked Varric, and he made a miracle occur."

They looked at each other, the same thought coming to mind at once. "Morrigan."

Cullen started past her. "I'll go down and—no, on second thought, you'd better go down and meet him. Last time he saw me, I was ... out of my head, calling for the deaths of all the mages in the tower. He may not want to see me again. I'll go prepare Leliana; you bring him to the rookery."

"Good thinking." Antonia looked at the puppies. "Phoenix, Lucky, with me." Phoenix came to heel at once, perfectly. Lucky looked to Cullen for confirmation of the command, and he nodded hastily before hurrying off. "Now, you two," Antonia said sternly as she hurried toward the stairs to the courtyard. "When you meet this elder mabari, be respectful."

She could only hope they were listening as she practically flew down the stairs. Morrigan typically spent the vast majority of her time in her own rooms or the gardens, and if they could keep the Hero of Ferelden away from those areas, in theory they could keep him away from her. Unless she realized who was coming, in which case ... but why would she? Antonia asked herself. The original plan had been made before Morrigan joined them at Skyhold, and Varric had taken care of everything afterward. Antonia and Varric had been the only two people who knew the Hero might be coming.

Still, Morrigan knew things, there was no question about it. And the last thing Antonia wanted was to have the witch ruin Leliana's reunion just because she could. Antonia didn't know how she knew that Morrigan could ruin it, but she knew the glee she would take in trying.

The pilgrim was coming through the gates now, looking around, and Antonia waited, curious to see what the Hero of Ferelden looked like.

As he came closer, she studied him. He was about halfway between her height and Cullen's and dark-haired, with a neatly trimmed beard just around the mouth. The mouth was sad, turned down, giving him a very melancholy look. Antonia wouldn't have given him a second glance; anyone who seemed at first sight less suited to Leliana's force of personality would have been hard to imagine.

He looked up, coming closer. "Hello."

"Welcome to Skyhold. We've been expecting you."

His pale blue eyes sharpened at that, peering at her suspiciously. "We?"

"Pardon me. I'm the Inquisitor, Antonia Trevelyan, and I believe you are—here to see Leliana."

There was no question who he was at that point, because his whole face lit up, the melancholy transforming. "I am. It's been a very ... very long time."

"So I'm told."

"How did you know, may I ask?"

"Cullen recognized you." Too late, Antonia remembered Cullen's words.

"Did he." He nodded. "I had forgotten Cullen was here."

"He is much changed since you knew him, I believe."

"So Leliana has said. Where is my nightingale?"

"I'm taking you to her now." Antonia looked around, making sure no one was paying too much attention to them. "There's another old friend of yours in residence, who I believe you might not want to see."

His eyes darted to hers, instant understanding dawning. "What are the chances of her, here?" he muttered, almost to himself.

"She's our liaison to Orlais."

"Almost as unbelievable as anything else about her. Is—" He stopped himself. "I'm Thomas, in case you're curious. Please, no titles."

"Antonia, and ditto."

"How has it been, Antonia?"

"Terrifying," she said immediately, sure that if anyone could understand, he could. "Every minute I think if I do something wrong, the whole world suffers."

Thomas laughed. "Yes, I can see how that would be. I dimly recall the feeling myself. It's been a nice ten years without it."

"Is that why you hide?"

"More or less. I could have had your position, and been here, with my songbird, but ... I do important work, quietly, now, and I had no desire to take on such a role again."

"We're taking a bit of a roundabout tour," Antonia said, "but if you'll trust me, it's the quickest way. And the most discreet." They were climbing the stairs that led to Cullen's office. Cutting through, she ordered the puppies to stay. "Would you like to leave your mabari here as well?" she asked Thomas.

"Irving, would you like ..." Thomas gestured toward the dog bed that had taken the place of the construction debris in the corner of Cullen's office. The dog woofed with a sharp nod, and Antonia gave her pups a look that said they were expected to be good hosts.

As they left, all three were sitting in a circle, sniffing each other curiously.

They crossed the walkway to Solas's quarters, the elf nowhere to be seen. Now if they could get through the library to the top of the tower, Antonia would feel better.

There were so many questions she wanted to ask of this man, who knew better than anyone other than Hawke what it was that she was going through, what she wanted and what she feared, but she was in awe of him, as well. And his attention was no longer on conversation—he was looking ahead as they went up the winding stairs. They walked quietly through the library; fortunately, no one looked up from their work.

"I love the smell of a library," Thomas said. "I used to spend a lot of time in the one at the tower."

"So I've been told."

And then they were on the last winding stair, and up into the garret, which had been entirely cleared, except for one red-headed woman with blue eyes that shone in a way Antonia had never seen them. And Cullen, who melted into the background as much as possible. But it didn't matter, because as soon as Thomas saw Leliana, neither Antonia or Cullen existed any further. They both went back down the stairs as quietly as they could, retracing the steps Antonia and Thomas had taken.

On the walkway, when they were alone, Cullen said quietly, "He looks older."

"I imagine you do, too."

"Yes, let's please dwell on that aspect of the situation."

Antonia was a bit surprised by the acidity of his tone—she'd never known Cullen to be touchy about his age before. "I'm sorry. I was just saying ..."

He held the door of his office open for her.

"That we're dog-sitting," Antonia finished as they entered and saw Irving curled up with the puppies for an afternoon snooze.

"How nice for us."

"You don't mind, do you?"

Cullen sighed, walking to the narrow window and anchoring his arm above it as he looked out. "No. Not really." He shook his head. "I'm sorry—seeing Thomas has brought back ..." He glanced at the dogs. "Irving is named after the First Enchanter of the tower from Thomas's day. At the tower, I remember Irving being amused that Thomas had named his dog after him. He was a good man, very intelligent, very fatherly toward the apprentices and the children. And you know what I called him? I called him a monster. I said he should be killed, slaughtered there in the hallway, just in case he had broken and was harboring a demon."

"You weren't yourself."

"If I wasn't, then maybe _I _should have been killed for harboring a demon." He laughed bitterly. "No, I'm afraid that excuse doesn't fly. I was myself; and I advocated killing each and every one of the mages left in the tower, down to the last child. Just in case. Thomas punched me—Thomas, whom I had never seen raise a hand in anger in all the years we were in the tower together. And I deserved it."

"Cullen, I—"

He whirled on her, his eyes blazing. "Don't you dare say you understand. You've never been there."

"No. No, I haven't. Not in any way. And you're right, I don't understand. But that's not who you are now—and it wasn't who you were then. Not really."

"Oh?"

"Because you didn't do it. I'm sure you had your chances, to take your vengeance on those mages, or the ones in Kirkwall, and you didn't."

"Don't you ever get tired of being so fucking positive all the time?" he said viciously.

Antonia stared at him, torn between shock and worry and anger. She had never heard him curse before. "Yes. You know I do." She clamped her jaw shut, trying to make it stop trembling. "Those are your demons, the regret over the things you did and the torment of what was done to you. You know what my demons are? That what's happening over there is the good future. The positive future. The whole world thinks that man is a hero, who succeeded, because he didn't die. And for what? To spend the rest of his life walled up at Weisshaupt, far from everyone he ever cared about, to keep the world from coming after him? To watch Leliana grow bitter and hard and know there's not a damn thing he can do about it? That's the good future? That's what happens to me if I don't die? You'll pardon me for not being overjoyed by the thought. So no, I'm not feeling particularly positive right now."

They stared at each other, both breathing hard from the anger and the fear that filled them. Then, by mutual need, they were in each other's arms. "I'm sorry," Cullen breathed against her hair.

"I am, too." She clung to him. "Cullen, I love you. Nothing you've ever done can change my mind—everything you tell me about what happened to you only makes me more proud of how far you've come and how hard you've worked to become the man you are."

He took a long breath, letting it out slowly, and she could feel some of the tension in his body ease. "That future scares me, too, you know," he said. He stroked the back of her head. "I promise you, I'm going to do everything I can to make our future better than that. I love you, Antonia, and I always will."

"Tomorrow I'm going to deny that I said this, but I love the words 'our future'."

Cullen chuckled, and if anything, held her tighter. "Me, too, my light. Me, too."

Eventually they felt able to let go of one another, and they both went back to work. After dinner, Antonia received a note from Leliana asking her to come up to the rookery. On her way up, she ran into Cullen, who had gotten the same note. "You know what this is about?"

"I can make a few guesses," he said. He reached out and touched her cheek with one finger. "You all right?"

"Yes. You?"

He nodded.

"If being up there with ... if it gets too much, you'll let me know?"

"I will. And you, too?"

They were on their way into the rookery, where Leliana and Thomas were sitting together, their heads very close to one another, their hands clasped. Leliana looked up, smiling, when she saw Antonia. "My friend, how did you manage this?"

"Varric."

"Ah. I should have guessed. What a lovely surprise. Not Wintersend, but this is better."

"I actually waited until Wintersend was well past, hoping I would draw less attention that way," Thomas said. "Hello, Cullen."

"Thomas."

The Hero of Ferelden got up and walked to Cullen, his hand out.

"I owe you an apology," Cullen said.

"No, you don't. You had been through a terrible ordeal and weren't thinking straight—I think we all knew that. I was, and still am, glad you survived. And my songbird tells me you've been outdoing yourself with your work with the Inquisition."

Cullen nodded, shaking the outstretched hand. "And you? Have you been well?"

"I'm better now." The transformation in Thomas's face made by his smile was utter and complete. He glanced at Leliana, who seemed years younger suddenly.

Antonia felt a bit uncomfortable. All three of these people shared a past that she had no part in; she'd been a sheltered child in her father's house during the Blight, attending parties and only dimly aware of the horrors going on in Ferelden, while they had all been out saving the world, or enduring torments, or both.

"Antonia, I owe you many thanks for this," Thomas said. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"You owe me nothing, Thomas. Leliana's happiness was my goal, and I am richly rewarded."

"I cannot believe you managed to pull this off under my very nose. You are sneakier than I have given you credit for," Leliana said. She came to Antonia and hugged her.

"How long are you staying, Thomas?" Cullen asked.

"Not long, I'm afraid. Overnight, maybe the day tomorrow, but I can't risk much more than that."

Antonia wanted to ask what was so important—surely now he could come out of hiding—but Leliana was nodding along, clearly in agreement, and it was at heart really none of Antonia's business. These two people had chosen the good of Thedas over the needs of their own hearts; their reasons were their own. And if Antonia couldn't see herself doing the same, well ... perhaps she would learn. It was hard to say where she would be or what she would feel when Corypheus was dead, or what the circumstances would be of his death, or after it.

"We're glad you could come at all," she said, meaning it.

"As am I." Thomas glanced at Leliana. "I hope you'll both pardon us for not asking you to stay, but the moments are precious and I don't want to miss one."

"Naturally."

"But I did want to say hello to you, Cullen, my old friend."

"Were we friends?"

"Weren't we? All those talks in the library? I would have said so."

"Perhaps." Cullen nodded. "Perhaps. I would like to think so, at least."

"Then let's, and let the past worry about itself. Antonia, Leliana tells me the burden of leadership rests heavy on your shoulders at times."

"Or all the time," she admitted.

"Yes. I can see that. It is difficult to find yourself standing between the world and its destruction; and even those who assist us can never really know what it's like to be in that place. Do your best; it's all Thedas can ask of you, and more than it asks of most."

"Thank you." Antonia wasn't sure if she was comforted by his words, but his intention was to comfort, and she appreciated that. "Best of luck to you."

"And to you."

She and Cullen left the other two alone, walking side by side through Skyhold, each lost in their own thoughts.

Thomas Amell left early the next morning, before most of Skyhold was awake. He seemed years younger as he and the dog walked out the gates and made their way, slowly because of Irving's evident infirmity, down the road and away from Skyhold.

Cullen was working, but Antonia stood on the battlements to watch the Hero of Ferelden leave, hoping that somehow if she could defeat Corypheus, that would mean a new lease on life for Thomas and Leliana as well. She was lost in those thoughts when a cool, crisp voice spoke next to her.

"He is gone, then?"

Antonia turned to look at Morrigan. "He is. How did you know?"

A faint smile touched Morrigan's mouth. "I just … did."

"In that case, I appreciate you letting him and Leliana have their time together."

"I am not the heartless monster Leliana would like to believe me to be … and I had my own reasons for avoiding Thomas, as he had for avoiding me." Morrigan looked at Antonia. "Someday, perhaps, I shall explain them to you."

"If you like."

"You do not pry; I appreciate that about you."

Antonia chuckled softly. "Enough people tell me things, I don't need to go hunting the secrets that don't come to me naturally. Does … does Leliana know of your reasons?"

"She does. It … is why she particularly dislikes having me here, because I possess something that she will almost certainly never have."

Something about the way she said it made Antonia think of Thomas Amell's pale blue eyes, and the pale blue eyes of Morrigan's child. And if that was the case, then the less she knew the better, she imagined. Morrigan smiled a little, as if following Antonia's train of thought.

Down below, the pilgrim and the aging mabari were no longer in sight.


	64. A Little Lost Sleep

_Thank you all for reading! You're the best. :)_

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_18 Guardian, 9:42_

"No! No, I will not break. Andraste, Bride of the Maker … blessed are the peacekeepers … the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield …" Cullen was babbling now, finding snatches of the Chant from the recesses of his mind to block out the whispers of the demons, the pain as they surrounded him. "Leave me!" he begged them. "Just … go. Let me be!"

"Cullen."

It was a soft whisper, in a voice that didn't belong to a demon, a voice he should know, and he tried to think of who it belonged to, but the demons were there. He thrashed against the one that was holding him.

"Cullen, wake up."

The voice again. He knew that voice. He loved that voice. Straining, he tried to think over the whispers of the demons. The tower … no, Kirkwall. Haven. The Inquisition. Antonia! The relief was instantaneous as he came back to the present, the nightmare receding.

He opened his eyes, blinking in the darkness of her quarters, broken only by the glowing embers of the fire.

Antonia's arms were around him, her head cuddled against his chest. "Are you all right?"

"Better now." He drew her fiercely against him, breathing in the rosemary and embrium scent of her hair. He remembered fighting one of the demons in his dream, and a sudden worry seized him. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No."

"Good." Then, knowing her as he did, he had to ask, "Would you tell me if I had?"

"No." He could practically feel her smile against his chest.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"I'm getting used to it. I'd rather have you here waking me up than across the keep suffering alone, anyway." She pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking at him in the darkness. "Do you think the dreams will ever go away?"

"No, not entirely."

Antonia nodded, having thought as much. "I wish there was something I could do."

"You have. They're much better than they used to be."

"You aren't just saying that to make me feel better?"

He was quiet for a moment, and she could tell he was thinking about it. "No, I really don't think so. I remember them being much more … intense, more frightening, more vivid. Since I told you about what happened in the tower, it's been easier to remember that the dreams aren't real. Not easy, but easier."

Antonia couldn't help shivering, remembering that day and how close he had come to giving in to his body's need for the lyrium. "Have any of the other Templars in the Inquisition talked to you about giving up the lyrium?"

"One or two," he said quietly. "I … have trouble counseling anyone to give it up, but just as much trouble counseling them to keep taking it. I think we all look at the Red Templars and wish we had never started. But then, most of us started taking it at eighteen—we trusted the Chantry and our superiors, but most of them didn't truly know what the effects would be, either. And the ones who did … either weren't all that interested in sparing the next generation, or were prevented from speaking by their own superiors."

"None of that sounds like what the Templars were created for."

"No. It's not. The Order today is … or was, since it doesn't really exist any longer, a perversion of Andraste's vision. We were meant to protect mages, from themselves and from the world, as much as the reverse, and that was lost somewhere along the way."

Antonia turned on her side, propping her head up on her arm. "Would you rebuild it, if you could?"

Cullen sighed heavily. "I'd like to say yes, but I don't know. Certainly I personally wouldn't want to rebuild it; I think there are other things I could do with my life after the Inquisition that would be more useful. But would I want someone else to do it? I don't know."

"I suppose it depends on what happens with the mages, doesn't it? After all, they still carry great destructive power, and have the same weaknesses to demons they've always had. Someone has to teach them how to resist, how to use that power without harming others, and once you've granted that much, don't the Templars, or something like them, come next?"

He frowned into the darkness. It was a similar thought process to his own. "In the old way, that's how it would have gone," he agreed. "But we don't have to do things the old ways any longer. We can make a new way, and we have here. Our mages are trained by other mages; the rest of the Inquisition watches out for them."

"But we don't have children here."

"No. They are the most vulnerable in some ways, but also the least—very few demons are interested in possessing children. The power isn't strong enough. So a child is more likely to harm someone else with untutored magic, but far less likely to become an abomination." He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "This is a deep discussion for the middle of the night."

"I'm sorry," Antonia said, instantly contrite. "I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"

Cullen lifted his head to look at her incredulously—she could tell even in the darkness. "Are _you_ keeping _me_ awake? That's a good one."

"Well, we used to have these kinds of conversations in daylight, in your office."

"Yes, and then I would spend half the night wishing I could wake up in your arms."

"Did you, really?" She smiled. "That's sweet."

"It felt rather hopeless at the time, actually." He rolled over, pulling her close and breathing in the scent of her hair.

"I wish I'd known," she whispered, tucking her head against his shoulder and giving a contented sigh. "There I was just sleeping, when I could have been with you."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have an uninterrupted night's sleep?" he asked. A yawn took him by surprise; after a nightmare, it usually took longer than this for him to be tired again.

She bumped her nose lightly against his shoulder. "Stop that," she said in not-entirely-feigned annoyance. "I'd rather be right here with you than anywhere else, and if a little lost sleep is the price I have to pay, it's more than worth it."

Cullen kissed her temple. "You are a treasure," he said sleepily.

"And you should go back to sleep," she whispered. "No more dreams."

"No more," he said, and sighed at the warmth of her in his arms.

Antonia could tell by his breathing that he had indeed gone back to sleep, and she lay there quietly, feeling the evenness of his breath against her, wishing she could kiss his nightmares away for good.


	65. What You Want

_Thanks for reading, all!  
_

* * *

_18 Guardian, 9:42_

Cullen woke to the sound of Antonia and Roya's muted conversation on the other side of the room and wished, not for the first time, that he'd put a few more partitions in here when he was designing her quarters.

Not that he minded Roya, who was discreet and as fanatically loyal to Antonia as even he could ask for, but it did make it rather difficult to get out of bed when she was there. And while he'd have been fine with staying in bed, everything he wanted to do there also involved Roya no longer being in the room.

He stirred, rolling over and opening his eyes. Antonia and Roya exchanged glances, and the dwarf immediately grabbed a bag of laundry—some of it his, he noticed, with some embarrassment—and disappeared down the stairs.

"She doesn't like me."

Antonia glanced at him briefly before going back to whatever she was writing. She must have been up for a while if she'd had time to get dressed and start on her correspondence, he thought. "She likes you just fine. If she didn't, she'd find ways to make sure you knew it. Starch in your smalls, for one thing."

"Ouch. That sounds as though it would chafe."

"Probably. But then you'd be forcibly aware that she didn't like you." Antonia smiled at him. "Good morning. I thought you were going to sleep the day away."

Cullen shook his head, still amazed at how well he slept with her by his side. "I thought I might, too. It's not a problem I'm used to having." The nightmares were a fact of his life, as were the pain and the cravings, but waking to Antonia's gentle hands and soft whispers went a long way toward removing the horrors of the nightmare. He got out of the bed, tugging on his pants. At some point, he really needed to start moving more things over here, since they spent more and more nights in her quarters together—not that he was complaining. Nor was she, to his constant surprise.

She was looking up at him now, her eyes tracing the contours of his chest avidly. Cullen crossed to her side, bending to kiss her.

Antonia cupped his cheek affectionately, then turned back to her papers. Cullen started toward the fireplace to make a cup of tea, then noticed that there was one, steaming hot and apparently untouched, at the corner of Antonia's desk.

"Are you going to drink this?" he asked, lifting it to take a sip.

"No! Don't drink that!"

The urgency in her tone startled him, and he almost dropped the cup, some of the hot tea spilling onto the floor. He hastily set it down, looking at her with consternation. She wasn't usually that possessive of her food—he stole bites off her plate all the time when they ate together.

"I'm sorry—was that special tea?"

"Kind of." Her cheeks were bright red, and she had her head down, staring at the paper in her hand, which Cullen noticed with some surprise was trembling. Something about that tea had upset her.

"Antonia? What was in that?"

"Nothing. It's nothing," she said. She picked up the cup and drank the contents, grimacing as she did so.

Now that he thought about it, she regularly made faces over her first cup of tea in the morning. What was she hiding from him? Was she sick? Were there problems with the Anchor? "Antonia," he said again, more firmly. "What was in that?"

"It's just not ... something you need to drink."

"Wait, is it a ... a woman thing? Something to do with that time of the month?" He hoped that was an acceptable thing to say—there were certain ramifications to this being his first real relationship that he wasn't yet clear on. "I thought you said that was last week."

"Right." Antonia was gripping the edge of the desk, and if he hadn't suddenly been so worried that there was something wrong that she wasn't telling him, he might have stopped pushing, seeing how obviously upset she was. But cold fingers of fear were stealing over him, and he had to know.

"Then what?"

"Fine," she gritted out between clenched teeth. "If I want that time of the month to keep coming regularly, then I have to drink the tea."

He frowned. That was news to him. Of course, what he didn't know about women and their biology was a fairly vast library of things, but ... that seemed odd. "Why?"

Not only were her cheeks bright red, there were tears in her eyes, as she looked up at him and said, "Maker's breath, Cullen, so I don't get pregnant!"

"Oh." Well, that sounded reasonable. Wait, what? Oh, Maker, because of him—because almost any night in the past month she could have conceived. "Oh," he said again, in a tone of sudden understanding. And then it struck him even deeper: She could have _his_ child. A baby. With Antonia. Which she didn't want, it seemed. "Oh," he said once more, this time with longing and a heavy feeling of disappointment. He sat down on the edge of the desk, his legs suddenly weak underneath him, wanting all sorts of things he hadn't even considered a moment ago.

She was still sitting there, looking down into her lap. Cullen knew she was going to want him to let this go, let this be part of the future that they never talked about. And he couldn't do that. Not this time.

"Antonia, love, I know we've agreed to put a moratorium on talk of the future, but—fair warning—I'm going to need to make an exception for this."

"Do we have to?" Her voice was very small.

"Yes, I think we do. How long—how long has this been going on?"

"Since just after we came back from Ferelden. Fortunately. Roya and Leliana both talked to me about it. I felt like such an idiot; I'd never even thought about it in that context."

"Well, you're not alone. This is the first I've given it any thought. I suppose ... all my previous, um, partners have been ... either professionals or ... er ... skilled amateurs, so it never really came up before."

"I don't have that excuse. I was just a naive little fool. Thank the Maker they caught me in time."

"Because it would have been so terrible to have my baby?" The words came out soft and hurt and of their own volition and he hated being this vulnerable in front of her suddenly. It hadn't occurred to him to think about that as an immediate outcome to their frequent love-making, but that didn't mean he hadn't dreamed about what it would be like someday, just the two of them and one or two children, or a houseful. He'd never had the courage to ask her if that was her dream, too.

"Is that what you think?" Her head snapped up, her eyes positively blazing with anger. "That somehow, some way, this is about me not wanting—" Antonia broke off her words, standing up and walking to the door of the balcony, looking out over the mountains. She shook her head. "Here I thought I was the idiot, but you take the cake."

There was nothing he was possibly going to say in response that wouldn't inflame the situation further, so he stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

"I don't think that you can possibly imagine how I felt, knowing that through my own lack of forethought I could have created a child in this situation. Because if I had, there would only have been two choices. Either I would have had to stop doing what I do and hide from Corypheus during nine long vulnerable months, endangering everything we have all worked so hard for, or I would have had to continue as Inquisitor knowing that every action I made endangered the life of an innocent child. _Our _innocent child."

"Oh," he said again, very softly this time, feeling like the idiot she had called him. To have made this about him when instead it was about yet another burden she carried, and this one that he had had a hand in creating. "I'm sorry ... I thought ... It's just that—I very much want to come to the end of this and—and create a family with you, and it was ... it seemed ... Do you want that, too?" he asked, the words coming slowly. Still, despite everything, he was afraid of the answer.

There were tears on her cheeks when she turned to face him. "Of course I do. Cullen, I want—everything. A lifetime with you, and marriage and children, and even grandchildren. But I am afraid that if I want that too much, if I think about it and let it become real and possible and something that is within my grasp, I won't be able to do what is required of me. I am afraid hope will get me killed. Can you understand that?"

"Do I have a choice?" He got up from the desk and went toward her. Why this continued to fester in him, when he understood what she was bearing, when he sympathized with if not understood the fears she carried, when she had been far more patient with his infinitely more complicated issues, he didn't know. He only knew that every time she refused to discuss the future, and even more, the rare times she was willing to say what she wanted but followed it up with an immediate disclaimer of how hard it was for her to contemplate, it was like a blow to the heart.

"Do you?" Her voice was very soft, but it hit Cullen with a force that made him forget how to breathe. Suddenly he could feel them teetering on a knife's edge that he hadn't even known they were walking.

"Damn it, Antonia!" He rubbed the back of his neck, the tension beginning to knot there.

"Is that an answer?"

She wasn't going to give an inch. Maybe she shouldn't. Was she in the right? Was he? Were either of them? He had completely lost any sense of how this was supposed to go in the certain knowledge that he could lose her right here, in this moment that was more unbelievable than all the ones that had come before because it was so close to being the end of everything—and even in that knowledge, he couldn't take a step back.

He was so tense he was shaking, and so, he realized, was she. Consciously, drawing on his years of learned self-control, he took a breath, willing his muscles to relax. "Let's start this over, shall we?" He took her hand, needing to touch her to ground himself in the reality where he was absolutely not going to let her go this easily. "Come inside." He led her over to the couch, sitting down and pulling her down next to him.

"How does sitting down make anything better?" she asked in a small voice.

"Breathing space. Plus, warmer." He took a blanket off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Okay. So now what?"

Cullen stifled a flash of irritation. If he had to take the steps, he had to take the steps. The alternative was ... unthinkable. "First—I am so sorry that I never thought of the consequences of ... being with you. I should have, but I was so—utterly, completely overwhelmed by how unbelievable this is, you are ..." He shivered. He still wasn't used to this, wasn't at all prepared for it.

"I should have, too," Antonia admitted. She pulled the blanket more tightly around herself, drawing her knees up. She looked very small, compacted like that. "I still feel so stupid, and childish, not to have even considered it. So irresponsible." She looked sideways at him. "It's part of why I'm so prickly about it, because I feel like I should have known and I shouldn't have had to have it pointed out to me. The idea—I'm horrified just thinking about what could have happened."

"Love, you can't keep thinking that way."

"More easily said than done."

"Second ..." This was harder, and she would resist it more, but it had to be said. "I want to tell you this, so you know, so there aren't any more questions about who wants what. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I would marry you today if I thought you would let me. I don't care where we live, or what we do, or what your family might think of the upstart Fereldan nobody sullying the Trevelyan family name." He attempted a smile that she didn't return. "And I want a family. How much I want that I didn't know until I saw mine again. If that doesn't happen because for some reason it doesn't happen, I can live with it, but I don't—if you don't ... Look, Antonia, just once I need you to tell me what you want, without reservation."

"I just did!" she cried.

"No, you didn't. You held it out to me with one hand and then snatched it back with the other, hiding behind this fear you have of looking forward to the future."

Antonia closed her eyes, turning her face away from him. "That's ... fair. I suppose."

Cullen waited, not wanting to rush her. This was hard for her, he knew, but he had to think it was better for her to get things out than to keep holding them inside and refusing to let them out for fear that hope would weaken her. Hope was what he clung to, and it frightened him to watch her run from it. How far was it from running from hope to running from him and what they had together?

She got up, holding the blanket tightly around her, and walked to the fireplace. Her shoulders were shaking, and as she turned he could see tears flowing silently down her cheeks. Had he pushed her too far?

Then she dropped the blanket, swiping fiercely at the tears with both hands, and came back to him, her hands on his shoulders and her mouth on his. Cullen couldn't help his response—she set him on fire with her slightest touch. He reached for her, hands tangling in her hair, holding her to him, kissing her with all the desperation the last half hour had built in him.

Antonia was the first to pull away, leaning her forehead against his. "I love you, Cullen. I do. And I want ... all those things. The lifetime, and the family, wherever we end up, and to the Void with my family if they decide to care about my decisions for the first time ever. But ..." She straightened, holding her marked hand out to him, palm up. "I can't ever put this down. I don't know when it will go away or how to get rid of it or even really what it is. If I think about it too long I get ... I get frantic, trying to scrub it away. Which hurts like sodding rashvine, may I add."

Cullen enclosed her hand with both of his.

"Thinking about our future is like that for me. If I dwell on it too much ..." She shook her head. "You draw strength from hope, because it takes you away from where you've been. But for me—there are so many obstacles between me and all those things we both dream of that thinking about it makes it seem so much farther away. I'm better off working harder, trying to get closer to the goal, feeling as though I'm doing something tangible. Does that make sense to you?"

"It does. So what do we do about the ... lack of connection between what you need to get through things and what I need?"

Antonia gave a small, rather humorless smile. "I was hoping that since I'm the one with the mark on my hand and drinking the tea and fighting the demons and closing the rifts, we could go with what I need. Perhaps that was presumptuous of me."

"You make a fair point, even if it doesn't leave me a lot of room."

She sighed, sitting down next to him and pressing her head against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, that sounded horribly cold and ... imperious of me, didn't it?"

"A little."

"And you need a plan, something you can count on."

"Yes." He smiled, kissing the top of her head.

"What if we try this for now—in your office, the future is fair game. In here, we let it stay in the future."

"And everywhere else?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Fine. You make the plan."

"No, it's a good plan. It just has a couple of holes."

"We worry about the holes later?" She sighed wearily, closing her eyes.

"Fair enough. You know, I don't think you noticed that I snuck a proposal in there," he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her with him as he sat back against the cushions.

"I noticed."

"Did you give me an answer?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No." She lifted her head to look at him. "I want the memories of all the special things to be untainted by this horrible fear. It's sweet that you offered, but I'm pretending you didn't."

"What if—" Maker, he hated the need for this question. "What if something happens and we—never have the chance?"

"Isn't this an interesting reversal. Now I'm the one assuming the future is going to come and you're the one worried it won't."

He thought about that for a moment, then smiled. "I hadn't noticed. In that case, I withdraw the question."

"Good." Antonia shifted so she was straddling his lap. "Cullen?"

"Hm?"

"Take me to bed."

"Mm-hm." He pulled her head down to his, kissing her long and hard. They never did make it to the bed, but neither of them complained.


	66. Blackwall

_Thanks for reading, all! Enjoy your weekend!  
_

* * *

_27 Guardian, 9:42_

The man Antonia had known as Blackwall, now revealed as an Orlesian captain and wanted traitor named Thom Rainier, sat on the edge of the cot in his prison cell, looking down at his hands.

She waited, wondering what he would say; not certain what she wanted to say.

"I didn't take Blackwall's life. I want you to know that," he said eventually. "I traded his death. He wanted me for the Wardens, but there was an ambush. Darkspawn. Blackwall was killed. I took his name so that a good man could live. But ... a good man, the man _he_ was, wouldn't have let another man die in his place."

Antonia had been stunned to see Blackwall climb the steps to the gallows in the middle of Val Royeaux, giving himself in place of one of the men he had once commanded, who had been doomed to death by hanging for the crimes they had committed long ago. It wasn't the first inkling she'd had that something was awry in Blackwall's story—she had suspected for some time that he was not actually a Grey Warden; since their time at Adamant, in fact—but to hear him admit it had been a shock. She wasn't over it yet.

"Do you think your death will make up for what you did?"

"Isn't it a start?" Blackwall—Rainier—asked bitterly. He turned his head to look at her for the first time. "Why are you here?"

It was a good question. Why was she there? There was no reason that she should be; his crime had been against the Orlesian Empire. He ought to be their problem now. Except that he was one of her people, one of her companions. He had fought at her side, he had saved her life on more than one occasion. He had drunk ale with her and laughed with her and walked through the sodding Fade with her. How could she not be here?

But she couldn't say all of that, not in the face of his crippling despair and his evident longing for the oblivion of death. "I wanted you to know that you're not alone," she said at last.

Rainier got up and came to the bars of the cell, gripping them with all his strength. "Don't you understand what I've done?" he shouted at her. "I gave the order to kill Lord Callier, his entourage, and I lied to my men about where the order came from. When it came to light, I ran. Those men—my men—died for my treason while I was pretending to be a better man. This is what I am. A murderer ... a traitor ..." He sank to his knees in the cell. "A monster!"

Antonia stepped backward, away from his anger and his self-loathing. "I know you're more than what you say," she said. "Have some faith in yourself."

He knelt there, not looking at her, and she turned on her heel. She was angry—but at whom it was hard to say. Outside the jail, she found the little knot of Inquisition people she had brought with her, just in case.

"You, and you," she said, pointing to two soldiers. "Dodge, and Warner. You'll take turns keeping watch with the Orlesian guards. That man is an Inquisition prisoner as much as he is an Orlesian, and you will make certain he stays alive until his trial." _Or until I can figure something out_, she thought, but didn't say. She turned to another man, Lopes, one of Leliana's operatives. "You get a message to Skyhold immediately. Tell them I want every piece of information they have on Thom Rainier, and I want Commander Cullen here with a small unit of his best men as soon as bloody possible. Understand?"

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Good." She stalked off. She hadn't intended on an extended stay in Val Royeaux, but she was not leaving here until this Rainier thing was resolved.

It took a few days for Cullen to get there, even at top speed, and he met her in the jail as soon as he arrived. Antonia had come to visit Rainier every day, but hadn't gotten any further with him than the first day. He treated her with grave courtesy, but refused to talk to her about his situation.

She was coming up from the cell when Cullen came in, carrying a sheaf of papers.

"Oh, good. You're here. What do we know?"

"I have Leliana's report here." He handed it to her.

Antonia leafed through it, pages covered in Leliana's tiny, careful script. She gestured for Cullen to walk with her outside, out of earshot of the jailers, Orlesian and Inquisition alike. In the sunny streets of Val Royeaux, she lifted the report. "Can you summarize?"

"Yes. Are you all right?" he asked.

"No. This is—I fought with him, Cullen, I trusted him at my back. He's the same person he was then, but he isn't." She shook her head. "Tell me what the report says."

"Apparently he was a respected captain in the Orlesian army. He was turned, persuaded to assassinate one of Celene's biggest supporters. His men, a fiercely loyal band, took the fall for it, and paid for his treason with their lives, except for a few, like Mornay," the man who had been going to hang, "who managed to escape. For a time." There was an edge to his tone.

"Thank you. That's helpful." She looked at the papers in her hand, sighing. "Or at least educational."

"Don't blame yourself," Cullen said. "We all made this mistake."

It was generous of him, but not true. She had recruited the man she thought was Blackwall; she had fought next to him. This was her fault, if fault there was. She had known something was off, and had never pushed it, wanting Blackwall to trust her enough to tell her himself. "What are my options here, Commander?"

"Blackw—Rainier has accepted his fate, but you don't have to. We do have resources." He was looking down at her, and Antonia wondered if he knew this was why she had called him here so urgently—and if he disapproved. "If you have him released to us, you can pass judgment on him yourself."

"If it were up to you, what would happen?" she asked.

Cullen's mouth curled in disgust. "What Black—that man did to his men was unacceptable. He betrayed them and left them to his fate. I despise him for it." Then he sighed, and added, "But he fought as a Warden, and for the Inquisition, shed his blood for our cause. And the moment he shakes off his past, he turns around and owns up to it. Why?"

"Some part of you is impressed by what he did, isn't it?"

"Saving Mornay the way he did took courage, I'll give him that. I can't tell you what to do, Inquisitor—I don't really know what I would do in your place." He glanced at her sideways. "But you didn't call me all the way here to ask me what I thought you should do."

"I wanted your opinion."

"But you've already decided."

"Yes." Antonia nodded firmly. "He is Inquisition; get him out of there and take him to Skyhold. I don't care how many favors it takes."

"Far be it from me to question your decision, Inquisitor, but are you certain you want to burn those favors on a man who has already betrayed one cause?" She glanced at him sharply, and Cullen said, "As your military advisor, it behooves me to point out the ramifications of your decision. If these are your orders, I will carry them out."

"Good. Because it doesn't matter what he's done. The Inquisition takes care of its own, and that includes punishing them for wrongdoing. I would want it done for a kitchen worker, much less for one of my own companions, and I will send that message today clearly enough to be heard across Thedas."

Cullen nodded. "Yes, Inquisitor."

"Let me know when you're ready to return; the rest of us will come back to Skyhold with you."

Now he smiled. "That part, at least, I look forward to."


	67. Decision

_Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_5 Drakonis, 9:42_

Antonia stood in the antechamber as preparations for Rainier's judgment went on. In a few minutes she had to go out there and sit on a throne and pretend to be qualified to judge the actions of a man old enough to be her father, and she was so nervous she wanted to vomit.

"You all right, Herald?" Varric asked, coming up beside her.

"No."

"Didn't think so. Look," he said, "they made you Inquisitor; didn't give you much of a choice, really. Now you're in charge, and you have every right to fix this situation however you think is best."

"I couldn't let him die."

"Of course not. Can you think of any of your companions you could have left there?"

She thought of Solas—they treated each other with courtesy, but no warmth had ever grown between them, despite Solas's occasional protestations of friendship. But not even Solas could she have left in that cell in Orlais waiting to die. "No." She looked down at the dwarf, grateful for his support. "I love you, Varric," she said abruptly, without having meant to.

He chuckled. "Women keep telling me that. I don't know whether to be flattered or frightened."

"Maybe that means they're not the right women."

"Is there such a thing as the right woman? I'm beginning to doubt it."

Antonia remembered the devastation in his face in the Deep Roads when he learned of Bianca's betrayal. He had covered it quickly, but not quickly enough, and the rawness of the emotion in his usually carefully schooled face had shocked and saddened her. She thought then of the way his stance and demeanor changed when Cassandra was in the room, becoming subtly more challenging, more virile. But she said nothing.

Varric smiled at her. "Besides, any man who can't be satisfied to be loved by women such as Hawke and you, Antonia, isn't worth his chest hair."

She returned the smile. He ought to be ridiculous, this dwarf with his overly fancy clothes and his oversize crossbow and his larger than life personality, but his heart was the greatest thing about him, and that was anything but ridiculous. "Thank you, Varric."

"Anytime. Now, get out there and get Blackwall-Rainier back where he belongs."

Antonia took her seat on the throne, watching as they led Rainier to her in chains.

Josephine stood near her, with the list of his crimes before her on her little portable desk. "Inquisitor. Presenting to you Thom Rainier, formerly known to us as Warden Blackwall. His crimes—well, you already know his crimes." She hesitated, then said, "It was no small expense to bring him here ... but the decision of what to do with him is now yours."

Antonia ignored the disapproval radiating from her ambassador. Josephine didn't mind using political favors on her own behalf, but it evidently bothered her to use them on Blackwall's. Antonia supposed there was some sense there, but it wasn't her problem—the favors existed, and she hadn't hesitated to use them on behalf of either of them. "Thom Rainier," she said.

He looked up at her, his face resigned but his eyes blazing. She knew he thought she should have left him in Orlais. He wasn't the only one who thought that, but Varric was right. They had put her in charge, they could all live with her decisions.

"When Warden Blackwall was killed, his intention was that you should become a Grey Warden. After everything that has occurred, they need good men in their ranks more than ever, and in your service to this Inquisition, you have proven yourself to be a good man." She paused, waiting for him to argue, but he only looked down at his chained hands. "When this war is over, you will go to the nearest Grey Warden base still standing and you will offer yourself to their cause. In the meantime, you will continue to work for the Inquisition, putting your blade and experience to good use in our fight against Corypheus. This is not a time when we can afford to lose skilled people." She kept her eyes on Rainier, knowing that his was the reaction she would have to fight hardest against, and paid no attention to the sounds around her.

He closed his eyes, accepting her decree. "As you command."

"I'm told the life of a true Warden is no easy thing, but it is the one you should have had long ago."

"I will make it count." Rainier paused. "I am grateful for this, Inquisitor, even if I don't understand it."

"Good." She stood up. "Release him from his chains."

The soldiers surrounding him did so. One of them shoved him a little too hard, but Antonia turned a blind eye to it. She couldn't command people to approve of him, or of her decision, only to accept that it was final. He would have to earn back the trust and respect of the Inquisition, and that, too, would be part of his punishment and his atonement.

She took dinner in her quarters that night, not wanting to face the rest of the Inquisition. Not that she felt at all hesitant about her decision—it was the only one that had been possible for her—but she would rather put the night between herself and everyone else's opinions. She fed Phoenix scraps from her plate, glad for the puppy's solid bulk next to her as she ate cross-legged in front of the fireplace.

He wasn't much of a puppy at this point; he was growing rapidly, to the point where the kennel-master thought he could go on short expeditions with her in another few weeks. Cullen wanted her to start training with Phoenix in the ring, so they could both get used to fighting together.

As if thinking of him had conjured him out of the air, she heard the door close far below and the tread of Cullen's boots on the walkway and then on the stairs. "Want some company?"

"Yours? Always."

"Well, I was thinking of Eustace's." He smiled.

"In that case ..."

Cullen dropped down next to her, playing with Phoenix's ears. Lucky was nowhere to be seen; probably in the kennels for the night. Cullen had said he didn't think she was prepared for his nightmares yet, and she could hardly climb the ladder to his loft anyway. He usually kenneled her at night unless he was sure he was going to be sleeping in Antonia's quarters.

"That was a big decision today."

"You don't agree with it."

He hesitated. "It wasn't my decision to make."

"That's a cop-out and you know it. You have an opinion; you always do."

"All right; sending him to the Wardens was a good idea, but I wouldn't have kept him on with the Inquisition."

"You don't have to fight beside him."

"No," Cullen agreed, "I don't. But the rest of your companions do. What do they think?"

"I didn't ask them. Varric asked me if there was any one of them I could have left there in prison to be hanged, and I had to say no; I couldn't have stomached losing any of them that way, no matter what they'd done." She looked into the fire, watching the flames leap. "No doubt that's very weak of me."

"You stood up for a man under your command. It's more than Rainier did."

"It's exactly what he did—just ... he waited too long. And now, instead of being a captain of his own men, he is taking orders from a slip of a girl young enough to be his daughter. That sounds like punishment to me." She smiled, but without humor.

"You are the only person who thinks of you that way," Cullen said sternly. "If you needed another companion, I can think of a hundred men who would gladly fight for the privilege. Men of honor and integrity."

"That's the thing, though. Blackwall is a man of honor and integrity. He made a mistake, a large one, but he has been atoning for it in his own rough way ever since. Rainier, if you will, then," she said impatiently, before Cullen could correct her. "So by what do we judge a man, Cullen? By one act, albeit a terrible act, or by a lifetime of atonement?" She looked at him, his handsome face in profile as he watched the flames dance in the fireplace.

He gave a small smile, acknowledging the implicit comparison. "You would have it by the lifetime."

"And you by the single act. So it's a good thing I'm in charge, isn't it?"

"For Rainier." But the smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he reached for her, pulling her against him. "And maybe for the rest of us, too."


	68. Well Played

_Thanks for reading, all! A little bit of smut to take you into the weekend, definitely NSFW.  
_

* * *

_7 Drakonis, 9:42_

"Commander, I believe it's your move."

She was purring at him again, her voice sliding over the syllables of his title. Which made it very difficult to think, much less to predict her next move. "Yes, I know it is. Don't rush me."

"I'm just pointing out that it's been your move for the last five minutes."

"I'm sorry, is there some hurry that I'm not aware of?" The garden was practically empty, the last golden rays of sunlight streaming across it, most of Skyhold just finishing dinner. The evening stretched out before them, and Cullen intended to make the most of it.

"I just worry that if it takes you this long to make a move, you might make a mistake."

"Hasty moves are more likely to be mistakes," he pointed out, moving a piece.

Antonia moved one of her own almost instantly, and Cullen frowned at the board.

"What are you thinking?" And then, as he realized the tricky situation coming up in another couple of moves if he chose the obvious path, "Oh. That's what. You're really too good at this."

He avoided the trap and moved a different piece, and she sat forward, studying the board.

"Are you ready for your trip to the Storm Coast?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I worry about you; this Qunari alliance sounds too good to be true. Have you considered the possibility that it's a trap?"

"I think it's your job to be worried." She smiled at him. "And the Iron Bull seems okay with it. I'm trusting that if it's a trap, he'll know before I do."

"For what it's worth, I don't worry about you professionally. Just personally."

"I know." She moved a piece, capturing one of his that he hadn't even realized was in jeopardy, and Cullen groaned.

"Did you really have to do that?"

"I am so sorry." She laid her fingers on the back of his hand, the fingertips drawing little patterns there.

Cullen shivered in response, turning his hand over to catch those wicked little fingers and stop them in their tracks. "That's cheating."

"Only if it distracts you. Is it distracting you?" she asked in wide-eyed innocence, knowing perfectly well that it was.

"It's going to make me take longer. Is that the goal?" he asked with exaggerated patience.

Antonia disentangled her fingers from his, running them instead along the edge of her collar, along the slender white throat that he loved to kiss, and lick, and suck on, and bite ...

"Maker's breath, woman."

"What? I was just thinking it's awfully warm out here." It wasn't. "And how glad I am that I don't have anything on under this jacket."

Cullen shifted in his chair, that particular bit of information making his pants begin to feel uncomfortably tight. He moved a piece and instantly regretted the decision.

Antonia's eyes glowed in triumph as she captured the piece. Leaning back in her chair, she unbuttoned the top button of her collar, looking at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

All he could think of was how much he wanted to drag her out of that chair and undo each and every button until her beautiful breasts were bare for him. Cullen closed his eyes, drawing on all his control, and opening them again, focused on the board. He moved another piece, this one a better choice, and Antonia raised her eyebrows.

"A bold move, Commander. I do like bold ... moves." She winked at him, and moved another piece. If she would only make this seem as though it was as difficult for her to concentrate on as it was for him, he would feel a lot better about losing.

Her tongue darted out and moistened her soft, sweet bottom lip, and despite his best efforts, Cullen's tongue mimicked the movement, thinking about what she did with her tongue in other places. And when her lips parted, showing her shining white teeth, he thought even more about what she did with those.

"You don't play fair," he whispered, his voice rough. He moved another piece, and felt only relief when she immediately captured it. Perhaps that meant the torment was almost over.

But not soon enough. As he debated his next move, and tried to stay in his seat instead of lifting her out of hers and taking her right there in the middle of the garden, Antonia shifted, hooking a knee around the arm of the chair and letting her small, strong fingers play along the inside of her thigh. He could practically feel them on his body, and he shifted again, feeling himself throb with the sudden spike of desire that stabbed through him.

"As soon as I win this game, I am going to take you upstairs and make you scream my name," he said, and instantly regretted the remark, because the thought of her calling out his name in a scream, or in that breathy, lost whisper she used in the midst of her pleasure, sent all the blood in his body rushing straight to a very unhelpful location.

"And if I win, do I get to make you scream mine?" she asked. She captured a piece he wasn't even aware of having moved.

He groaned at the idea. "Please."

Antonia laughed low in her throat, getting up. "Sounds like I win, then, doesn't it?"

Cullen stood up, too, beyond caring about the outcome of the game. "Sounds like you should get moving, or I'm not going to be held responsible for what the rest of Skyhold sees."

"Why, Commander, that's not very gentlemanly."

He had a fairly strict rule about keeping displays of intimacy behind closed doors—or occasionally, for old times sake, on the battlements—but it was possible to push a person too far. He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her into his arms, and kissed her thoroughly, his hands on her hips holding her tightly against him, making sure she was aware of exactly how far from gentlemanly she made him feel.

"Going now, then," she said breathlessly when he let her go.

"Right."

When they finally got there, the short distance seeming like a mile, he kicked the door to her quarters closed behind him, shoving her immediately against the wall and pressing himself between her legs while he unbuttoned her collar further and kissed her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin there. He lifted one of her legs and drew it over his hip, grinding against her. Antonia wrapped the other leg around his waist, too, lifting herself into his arms. "Upstairs," she whispered into his ear, her tongue tracing the edge.

"Oh, yes." If he could make it that far.

Fortunately, she was light in his arms, because she kept nibbling his ear and biting his neck all the way up the stairs. He all but dropped her onto the bed, frantically ripping at his clothes. Antonia's hands went to the buttons of her jacket.

"No!" Cullen said hoarsely. "Those are mine."

She chuckled, shifting her attention to the laces of her boots. Cullen was more than happy to let her deal with those, having more than once in his haste snarled the laces and thus slowed things down considerably. She had complained about disliking his breastplate more than once; he absolutely detested those boots.

Naked, he dove onto the bed next to her. Immediately he went for pants instead of jacket, tugging them down over her hips so he could touch her. She was absolutely molten there, and he caught his breath as his fingers sank easily inside her, his thumb finding the place that made her cry out, arching against him.

He couldn't take his eyes off her face, watching as the red flush stole up her neck and across her cheeks, her eyes closing and her mouth opening as she twisted and writhed under the movements of his thumb and fingers. Her hips were rolling against him in an insistent rhythm when he removed his hand.

"Don't stop," she pleaded.

"My name," he reminded her.

"Cullen. Please."

He stroked her once, taking pleasure in the keening cry that came from her. "Again, louder."

"Cullen! Oh, Maker, please, Cullen!"

Moving his fingers inside her, slowly, he let his thumb hover just above where she wanted it. "Once more. Scream it for me, love." And then he touched her, and she did just that, screaming his name in her pleasure. It was so good he nearly climaxed just hearing it.

He let her come down, watching in fascination as her breathing slowed and the redness receded from her face and neck, feathering small kisses across her face.

She opened her eyes at last and looked up at him. "You enjoyed that a bit too much."

"Possibly."

"My turn, then." Antonia slid out from under him, stripping her pants the rest of the way off.

Cullen lay back, letting her straddle his thighs. It had taken some time to get to the point where he was comfortable lying back under her attentions without thinking of the demon's touch in his dreams, and he still felt a brief moment of apprehension at first ... but that faded very quickly as she started unbuttoning her jacket, very slowly, letting each button reveal a bit more soft, tantalizing skin.

True to her word, she wore nothing underneath it, and he could hear himself whimper as her beautiful breasts were revealed to him, the nipples hardened already. He raised a hand to touch, but she shook her head.

Then she bent over him, stroking his chest with mouth and hands and those soft rounded breasts with their contrasting taut nipples, biting at the edge of his ribcage and at the sensitive skin just over his hipbone, making Cullen twitch and groan beneath her. She put her hands on his thighs, letting her breasts brush over his length, the contrast between their cool softness and the raging heat there absolutely maddening. His hands were on her shoulders, in her hair, stroking and pressing and urging her to taste him.

"My name," she said.

"Antonia. Antonia, love."

"Mm." And then her mouth enveloped him, hot and wet and sucking firmly and steadily. He strained against her, thrusting up against the wicked, teasing tongue that danced over his sensitive skin. "Say it again," she whispered. "Louder."

"Antonia!"

Her fingers were on him now, stroking and stroking, and he was so close. Dimly, he heard her say, "Scream it for me," and then her mouth was covering him again, just at the edge where he most needed that friction, and he had no idea if he had actually screamed her name or not because the world went white with the intensity of his pleasure.

When he could think again, she was propped up on her elbow watching him, her hand idly tracing patterns on his chest. He caught it in his own, kissing her fingertips.

"Well played, Commander."

"Likewise, Inquisitor."


	69. Call the Retreat

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

* * *

_10 Drakonis, 9:42_

The Storm Coast was wet and drizzly, which seemed to be more or less its constant state. All of Ferelden seemed to be a rain magnet, Antonia thought, pulling her hood up.

She didn't much like this whole venture—despite the Iron Bull's claims, she didn't particularly trust the Ben-Hassrath, or the Qunari above them, and wasn't thrilled about the idea of an alliance when there was so little trust and understanding between the two sides. But the Iron Bull had fought stalwartly at her side all this time, and she owed it to him to at least make the attempt.

Besides which, if they could take out the arriving Venatori ... that would be a solid blow, and well worth the discomfort of an uneasy alliance.

The Bull had sent the Chargers to the smaller camp of Venatori, while he and Dorian and Antonia and Varric and Gatt, the Iron Bull's Ben-Hassrath contact, took the larger camp. Antonia didn't disagree with the decision—she and the Bull led similarly, both willing to take on the larger risk and the harder duty to spare those who followed them the brunt of any attack. It was part of the mutual respect they had for one another, that they recognized this tendency in each other. Combat together was often a duel between them of trying to see which of them could spare the other more of the battle.

Gatt and the Iron Bull needled each other in a friendly way all the way up the mountain, but Antonia could tell that Gatt had a wary eye on Dorian. It made sense—it was odd to be taking a Tevinter mage to attack a cult of Tevinter mages, and Gatt, former slave of a Magister, had an evident distrust of the breed anyway. Or perhaps he could sense something of the tension that crackled between Dorian and the Iron Bull. They were keeping their distance from each other these days, but to Antonia's eyes the draw between them was almost palpable.

Antonia would have thought that Gatt's discomfort would ease once they took out the first camp of Venatori and Dorian fought as savagely as the rest, but if possible Gatt became more hostile. Dorian parried the comments with his usual good humor, but there was an edge there, and Antonia suddenly wanted this over before things could get any worse.

And then worse was exactly what things got. While they were exulting over the sinking of a Venatori ship, another one beached itself, a sizeable group of reinforcements heading for the Chargers. Over the past year, Antonia had spent hours with the Iron Bull and his people, and she loved the Chargers like they were her own companions.

"They can't hold against that force," she said to the Iron Bull, gauging whether they could get to the Chargers in time, but it was too far.

"I know."

Gatt said, intensely, "They need to hold that position."

"They do that, they're dead."

"If they don't the dreadnought is dead," Gatt pointed out.

Varric and Dorian stood tense behind them; Antonia knew exactly where they stood in this stand-off, and where she stood, but she owed it to the Iron Bull to let him make the decision. He was wavering right now, as Gatt battered at him with words.

It was a very clear choice to Antonia—the Chargers' lives, or the alliance with the Qunari. It was clear to the Iron Bull, too, and Gatt was making sure he drove the point firmly home that if the Iron Bull chose the Chargers, he would be out of the Qun, Tal-Vashoth, landless and homeless. Except for Skyhold, which would be his home for as long as he wanted.

She could hardly bear it when the Iron Bull turned to her, his one eye wide and pleading at her, the choice between home and belief and the people he loved unmanning him entirely.

"Call the retreat," she said softly.

"Don't!" Gatt shouted.

The Iron Bull raised his horn to his mouth and blew the retreat call, and the Chargers melted away into the woods well away from the Venatori.

Gatt couldn't believe it. He paced back and forth ranting about the Bull's decision. Behind him, Antonia saw Dorian's eyes fixed on the big Qunari with a peculiar expression of pride and sympathy, but he looked away when he saw her watching him.

She stood with the Iron Bull watching as the Venatori took out the Qunari dreadnought, which exploded in the middle of the sea, taking with it the Iron Bull's connection to the land of his birth. When it was gone, she turned to look at him, wanting to ask if he was all right, but his face was as closed off as she had ever seen it, and she opted against an expression of concern. "Are you ready to go home?"

His eye studied her, considering her use of the word. "Yeah, boss," he said at last. "Sounds good. And the drinks are on me when we get there."


	70. Long Overdue Idea

_Thanks for reading, everyone!  
_

* * *

_13 Drakonis, 9:42_

The barrel of Chasind sack mead the Iron Bull had brought was half-empty already, the Chargers sitting around it and singing a mournful song Antonia had never heard before.

"Did you save me any?" she asked them, although she wasn't sure she wanted some if this was going to be the result of drinking it.

Krem looked up at her, shaking his head sorrowfully. "You can dive for some, if you can get your head in the barrel. Harding went in there an hour ago, and she hasn't come out yet."

Startled, Antonia looked in the barrel, but there was no red-headed dwarf in it.

"Maybe she came out the other end. What if there's a hidden doorway to another world at the bottom of the barrel?" Krem dove in and came back out with a full mug. "What do you know, someone filled my cup!"

Sera popped up at Antonia's shoulder. "I like a good party as much as the next girl, but this one's a double done downer. I think I'd rather go to bed, even if it has to be solo."

Antonia looked around. Meryden, the bard who was Sera's occasional lover, was nowhere to be seen—which was good, because Sera was right, the party was a downer, and no doubt Meryden would be singing the Chargers' sad song along with them.

In the corner, by himself, with his legs stretched out in front of him, Antonia found the Iron Bull, looking as though he'd lost his best friend. Which in a way, he most certainly had. "Bull?" she asked, sitting down next to him, but he shook his head.

"This one's on me, boss. I shouldn't have asked you to make the decision, but—no, I really shouldn't've."

"I only said it, Bull. You were thinking it."

"Nice of you to say, boss." It was a dismissal, and she got up, finding her way to the bar where Cullen stood next to Dorian, both of them staring at untouched beverages.

"You two are no cheerier than they are."

They both looked at her and shrugged. It was contagious, apparently. Not that Antonia worried about the Chargers—they'd bounce back. And she knew how to handle Cullen's attack of melancholy. But the Iron Bull ... she'd never seen him lose his zest quite the way he had tonight.

"Cullen, would you mind giving me a minute with Dorian, please?"

He turned to look at her, then at the mage, then over his shoulder in the direction of the Iron Bull. "Right. I think I'll go to bed, anyway. See you later?"

She thought rapidly, but couldn't remember for the life of her what night it was. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours." He gave her a half-smile. "It's supposed to rain."

"Next Satinalia, I'm fixing your roof!" she called after him.

"Next Satinalia, you'd better have something better to give me than that."

Great, she thought, turning to the bar and looking down into his left-behind tankard. Now she was depressed, too. She'd like to think they could defeat Corypheus by Satinalia, but at the rate they were going she wasn't prepared to bet on it.

"Dorian, what in the Void are you doing?" she said abruptly.

"What am I doing? I should think that would be obvious, dear girl. I am standing here looking at a very substandard glass of wine and wondering why I ordered it in the first place."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it perfectly well."

"Antonia."

"Dorian."

"Stop pushing."

"I haven't even begun to push. Look, you two have been eyeing each other forever; and now he's sitting over there having given up his entire identity, and feeling very alone, if I can tell the symptoms. Why aren't you over there showing him that he isn't alone at all?"

The mage looked down at the wine glass again. "Wouldn't that be better if I had spoken up ages ago?"

"Yes, of course it would! But you didn't, and you can't bend time to go back and fix that ... or, at least, you wouldn't want to have. So you can stand here and regret what you didn't do, or you can get over there and fix it now."

"You are very bossy."

"In case you haven't noticed, I am the boss."

"He'll think it's a foolish notion. He'll reject me, and he'll send me away, and I'll be embarrassed, and you'll be over here all clean and clear while I'm standing there with egg on my face."

Antonia looked over at the Iron Bull, who was slumped even further in his chair than he had been before. "He doesn't have any eggs."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. I know that you're a big coward."

Dorian glanced at her darkly. "I think I liked you better before you and the Commander started your regular chess games."

Antonia smiled. "And whose fault is that?"

"Oh, no, you don't. That's not on me. It's the dwarf's fault, if anything."

"All three of you ganged up on me pretty regularly, if I recall correctly." She pointed at the door with her best innocent look. "Shall I go get Varric? I'm sure he'd have some interesting things to say about this situation here."

"Don't you dare. Just ... stand still and stop talking for a minute, will you?" Dorian rubbed his temples. "You are aware that he's a Qunari and I'm a Tevinter mage?"

"You are aware that you've both been ogling each other since you met, so clearly neither one of you cares?"

"I hate you."

"I know you do." Antonia picked up his wine glass, leaning over the bar and pouring it into the sink. "Now, stay away from the Chasind sack mead, because clearly that's been dosed with despair, and go over there and talk to him."

"You're not going to let go of this, are you?"

"No." She turned around, leaning her elbows on the bar. "Go ahead, I can wait."

"You know, you're starting to remind me of my mother. Which is not a comparison you would enjoy if you met her."

"Stop trying to insult me and get over there." Antonia looked at him seriously. "Dorian, the man is hurting. You can help, and you should, because I think you're the one he would most like to be consoled by."

"My people—at least, a sect of my people—just killed a whole lot of his today, threatened some more, and were directly responsible for him losing his country. How can you think he wants my comfort right at this moment?"

"Because you stopped being Tevinter to him a long time ago, and became Dorian, who is his dear friend. Look at Krem, for the Maker's sake! You think he blames Krem for what the Venatori did? Then why would you think he would blame you? Come on, Dorian. Go over there."

He hesitated, looking at her almost beseechingly, but she held firm. Slowly, Dorian nodded. Antonia stayed where she was, watching him as he walked across the bar to stand over the Iron Bull. The big Qunari lifted his head to look up at Dorian, and then he lifted a hand to the mage, who took it. Both men stared at their joined hands for a long moment, and then the Iron Bull tugged on Dorian's hand, pulling the mage into the seat next to him.

Antonia smiled. It was up to them now. She left the tavern; it was indeed raining outside, as Cullen had predicted, and she hurried her steps across the courtyard and through the main hall. Varric was scratching away at the next chapter of his book. He looked up as she went by.

"Looks like a fine night to be inside."

Thinking of the scene she had just left, Antonia smiled. "Let's hope so."

He peered at her curiously. "You look like the cat who ate the canary."

"I've been match-making."

"Oh, Herald, bad idea."

"Long overdue idea."

"Ah." Varric nodded. "I considered taking a stab at that one myself, but it's better coming from you, I think."

"Tomorrow will tell, I suppose. Tell Bianca I said good-night."

"Same to you."

She made her way to her quarters, tiptoeing up the stairs, her heart lifting when she saw Cullen. The covers were off, despite the chill, the doors to the balconies standing wide open, letting the rain and the cool breeze in, and he lay on his stomach, his head under the pillow. Both puppies were curled up asleep by the fire.

Antonia sat down next to him, resting her palm on his heated skin. He stirred, his head emerging from under the pillow, and blinked at her sleepily.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"Yes."

"Good." Cullen shifted, lying on his side and watching her as she got undressed and pulled the balcony doors closed to keep the rain out.

She climbed into bed, tucking herself against the heat of his body, feeling his arms come around her, strong and secure, and they drifted off to sleep together.


	71. Kirkwall

_My apologies for the missed week last week! Both FF . net and I had trouble getting our acts together. Thanks for reading! _

* * *

_28 Drakonis, 9:42_

"Curly, wait up!"

Cullen turned at the sound of Varric's voice. He wasn't fond of the nickname the dwarf had chosen for him, but he had seen other people attempt to duck those nicknames and it never worked, so he seemed to have little choice but to live with it.

"Something I can do for you, Varric?"

"Well, I'm putting together a little ... gathering tonight, and I thought you might want to join in."

"I'm afraid I have plans for the evening." Without entirely meaning to, Cullen found himself grinning broadly at the idea of those plans. They weren't anything particularly unusual, but he loved the long evenings with Antonia—making love, playing chess, talking. Even lying side by side in bed reading was a joy he had never encountered before.

"Please. As though I wouldn't include her, too."

Part of Cullen felt disappointed at the idea of having to share Antonia even for an evening, but he knew how ridiculous that was. And another part of him was flattered to be included—even if it was only for her sake—and looked foward to an evening spent with friends. That, too, was a rarity in his life.

"All right. If the In—If Antonia agrees, then you can count me in."

Varric nodded, looking pleased.

Cullen could imagine the dwarf must miss Kirkwall—living at the Hanged Man, he'd had the whole of Kirkwall at his fingertips, as everyone who was anyone in all walks of life went slumming there regularly. Cullen himself had only been there on matters of duty, usually hunting down young Templars who had passed out and forgotten to come back to the Gallows. There had been that long weekend with Isabela, but he hadn't really seen much of the tavern in that circumstance.

Now Varric spent his days writing in the main hall, but it really wasn't the same. Very little went on at Skyhold that everyone didn't know about, so there wasn't as much use for an extensive network of spies and contacts. And while the Inquisitors' companions got together semi-regularly, Hawke's people had met more or less every night, even after Hawke and Fenris had taken up residence together.

Circumstances had a lot to do with that—Hawke had started out in Lowtown, one of the people, eager to get away from her uncle's hovel. Antonia had started out already the Herald of Andraste, already nobility. More to the point, he supposed, Antonia had grown up essentially as an only child, and was comfortable keeping her own counsel; Hawke had grown up as one of several siblings, and enjoyed having some noise around her. So while Antonia liked spending time with her people, she also seemed to need some time to herself, as well, which meant gatherings were regularly scheduled rather than constant.

All of which often left Varric at somewhat loose ends.

"Do you hear much from your friends in Kirkwall?" Cullen asked abruptly.

Varric raised his eyebrows. "Occasionally. Aveline writes to yell at me for the characterizations in _Swords &amp; Shields _... and beg for more chapters. She and Donnic are trying to repopulate Kirkwall on their own—two boys already, and apparently she's considering working on the next."

"How is she managing pregnancy, toddlers, and being Viscount?"

"You know Aveline. No challenge big enough."

"An excellent point." Cullen chuckled.

"Hawke and Fenris are still in Weisshaupt, although I think he's convinced her not to become a Grey Warden." Varric frowned. "No clue why she wanted to in the first place, or how she ended up working with Stroud. There's a lot about that whole thing I don't understand."

Cullen thought about the rest of Hawke's companions. The renegade Grey Warden, Anders, was dead, as was the former prince of Starkhaven, killed in the explosion of the Chantry.

"I take it Isabela is terrorizing the high seas again?"

"She seems to be. She's got Hawke's sister with her, and they seem pretty happy. Which steams Hawke quite a bit, but ..." Varric shrugged. "What are you going to do?"

Cullen remembered Bethany, who had spent her years in the Gallows as the paramour of Orsino, the First Enchanter, and had briefly been First Enchanter herself after Orsino's death. "I can't say I'm surprised. She enjoyed learning, but never seemed all that suited to life in the Circle."

"Rivaini agreed with you; she kept climbing the tower to Sunshine's quarters until she got her to agree to come down. Hm." Varric looked thoughtful. "There might be a story in that."

"No doubt."

"Daisy's in Denerim, in the Alienage. I hear from her sometimes. Longer letters than Aveline's, less salty than Rivaini's. She's doing good work, has a purpose in life. All that good stuff."

"Do you have any plans to go back to Kirkwall?"

"For what? Skyhold's where things are happening these days, and there's so little Merchant's Guild presence that I only get dunned for debt three times a week." Varric sighed. "Kirkwall without Hawke ... why bother?"

Cullen had to admit that he found it hard to imagine what Kirkwall must be like without the Champion's presence; she had epitomized so much of his own experiences in the city that it was hard to think of them separately.

Varric was looking as melancholy as Cullen had ever seen him, and Cullen felt a bit guilty about that. "So ... this gathering this evening," he said. "What exactly are we doing?"

"Hm?" Varric looked at him with a start. "Oh. You play Wicked Grace, don't you?"

"The Chantry frowns on games of chance, especially those with the word 'wicked' in the title." With some difficulty, Cullen managed to keep a straight face.

"Oh." Varric actually looked crestfallen.

Cullen allowed a bit of a smile to show. "But it's possible that late at night in the barracks—"

"Please, Curly, some things I just don't need to envision."

"I was going to say that I managed to supplement my income quite nicely on Wicked Grace winnings. I don't know what you were thinking ... except that you clearly are a very dirty-minded dwarf."

"What can I say? It's a living." Varric grinned. "So, you think you're pretty good, then?"

"At Wicked Grace? I believe I can hold my own. And yes, I've heard about you and the Iron Bull and your exceptional cheating skills in some detail."

Varric was eyeing him speculatively now, and Cullen rather regretted being so cocky about the game. It had been a long time, after all, and Antonia's people played cards regularly while on expedition.

"Good luck, Curly. You're going to need it."


	72. Deal Me In

_Thanks for reading, all!_

* * *

_28 Drakonis, 9:42_

Antonia was walking through the main hall on her way back from the kennels when Varric caught up with her.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you. You're just in time—we almost had to start without you."

She raised her eyebrows, mystified, and then remembered Cullen mentioning something earlier that day about a gathering at Varric's later. "Well, we couldn't have that, could we?"

"What's a party without our Inquisitor?" Varric grinned at her.

In Varric's chambers, a big table had ... well, everyone sitting around it. Antonia couldn't help but smile. Iron Bull, Dorian, Cassandra, Blackwall, Cullen, Josephine, and Cole. The latter two rarely joined them for activities, so she was glad Varric had brought them in. She wondered where Vivienne was, but the mage had been keeping to herself more recently, seeming rather sad. Antonia made a mental note to ask her about it.

She squeezed Cullen's shoulder in passing, finding a seat at the other end of the table. With this group, holding on to your silvers was hard enough without the extra distraction of Cullen within touching distance.

"I found her, Ruffles," Varric said to Josephine. "Deal her in."

"I do hope I recall the rules," Josephine said, raising her mug to Antonia. "It's been ages since I played a game of Wicked Grace."

"Grab a seat," Varric said. "We're ready to start."

"Are we playing cards or what?" the Iron Bull asked impatiently.

Josephine dealt rapidly. "Keep your pants on," she said to the Iron Bull.

"Ooh, is this going to be one of those games?" Dorian asked, with a shade too much eagerness.

Cassandra frowned at her cards. "Are three drakes better than a pair of swords? I can never remember."

"Seeker, remember how I said 'don't show anyone your hand'? That rule includes announcing it to the table."

Glaring, Cassandra flashed her cards at him.

"Very nice," Varric said tolerantly, giving up. Cassandra liked cards, but she liked to win a bit too much, so she tried to dial it back for friendly games. Occasionally she overshot. Antonia smothered a smile at Cassandra's blatant reshuffling to reveal cards she had hidden when she showed the hand to Varric.

Cole was looking at his cards intently, his head cocked to the side. "There's a crown on his head ... and a sword, too." He turned to look at Varric. "His head didn't want either."

"Don't talk to the face cards, kid," Varric told him.

Cullen looked at his hand, fidgeting just slightly. Antonia looked at him with concern. "You seem to have enough people," he said. She wondered if the cards were bringing back memories he'd rather not deal with. Catching his eye, she gave him a questioning raise of the eyebrow, and he shrugged.

"Losing money can be both relaxing and habit-forming," Dorian said. "Give it a try."

"Curly," Varric said, "if any man in history ever needed a hobby, it's you."

Cullen nodded, taking a deep breath. He gave Antonia a small half smile that said he was all right, but she couldn't help worrying a little anyway.

"Dealer starts," Josephine said. "Oh ... I believe ... I'll start at ... three coppers! Do you think that's too daring? Maybe I'll make it one. Oh, no, no ... three it is!"

The Iron Bull leaned across the table toward her. "Seriously? Who starts at three coppers? Silver, or go home!"

"Sounds good," Blackwall said. "I'm in."

"Bolder the better, right?" Dorian asked, one eyebrow raised in the Iron Bull's direction. Antonia could have sworn the Iron Bull blushed. "I'm in."

"Me, too." Varric looked across the table at Antonia. "Well? Are you in?"

"I'm in, and raising you another silver." She grinned at him.

Cullen said, "But—you haven't even looked at your cards." Antonia shot him a wink, remembering that he had never played cards with her and her crew before. She hoped they left him with his shirt at the end of the night. Or, better, that they left her with his shirt.

"Our illustrious leader is betting that we're bluffing," Varric said.

Blackwall pointed out, "You _are _bluffing."

"Yes, but she doesn't know that," Varric protested. Then, meeting Antonia's eye, he burst out laughing. "All right, she does, too."

They played out the hand, which Josephine won, and another hand after that, which Josephine won. At some point, stories began to be told. Varric told one about breaking into Chateau Haine with Hawke, the Iron Bull the one about giant-baiting that Antonia had heard a couple of times already. Cole said something cryptic he had heard a person thinking once that had everyone scratching their heads, and Cassandra told a long and rather pointless story about a fellow recruit in her early days as a Seeker.

That reminded Cullen of a story from the Circle in Ferelden, about a poor young recruit who one day ran into all sorts of trouble—giant spiders and mages burning off his armor and freezing it by accident. It was a funny story, and he told it well, and everyone was hanging on his words—everyone except Antonia, who was watching his face instead, delighted to see him so engaged amongst friends. She had the sense that these moments had been few and far between in his life.

"The poor recruit ran out into the dining hall in nothing but his knickers," Cullen went on. "This ... profound silence fell over the hall as seventy mages and thirty Templars all turned to stare at once. Then, a slow round of applause began, and it spread, until every soul was on their feet. A standing ovation."

"What did he do?" Josephine asked, fascinated.

"Saluted. Turned on his heel. And marched out like he was in full armor." Cullen nodded, smiling. Antonia was thrilled to hear him telling a story—a happy story at that—from his time in the Templars. He had healed so much in the last few months, and she was glad to have had a hand in that healing.

"He did not!" Cassandra pounded the table.

"Good man." Dorian nodded approvingly.

The Iron Bull guffawed. "You're shitting us!"

"That's how you know it's true," Varric said. "I could never put that in a book—too unlikely."

"Deal another hand, Josephine," Antonia said.

"What? Oh, cards, right. Sorry."

Antonia was surprised to see her ambassador so distracted ... until she noticed how Blackwall—Rainier, she should call him, but somehow she couldn't remember to do so—was watching Josephine's face instead of her hands as she dexterously shuffled the cards. So, things were going that way, were they?

Josephine dealt another hand, and then another, and another after that, and she won every single hand.

"You, my lady ambassador, are a hustler," the Iron Bull told her, in a tone of very great respect.

Antonia was highly impressed—with the Iron Bull and Varric both at the table, Josephine had managed to outcheat them, and sucker them into taking it easy on her into the bargain. Few people could do that.

The Antivan dealt one more hand, everyone betting cautiously and playing very carefully, but the outcome was the same. "And the dealer takes ... everything. I win again." Josephine pulled in her stack of winnings, rubbing a particularly shiny silver against her sleeve.

Cullen leaned across the table toward her. "I've figured out your tells, Lady Ambassador."

"Commander!" Josephine feigned shock. "Everyone knows a lady has no tells."

He sat back, looking confident. Too confident, Antonia thought. "Then let's see if your good fortune lasts one more hand."

"Deal me in, too, Josephine," Antonia said, trying a last effort to save Cullen from himself. "I want a chance to win my dignity back."

Josephine winked at her, and began dealing the cards. Antonia had been at the receiving end of cheating often enough to see how quickly the Antivan's fingers flashed, and how many of the cards came off the bottom of the deck. Her own ante was as good as lost, but she imagined Cullen was going to lose rather more than that, determined as he was to prove himself Josephine's equal at cards.

The table was silent as they played; Josephine was out for blood, and Cullen was bound not to be defeated ... but defeated he was, over and over, until he was down to betting his clothes. Antonia was hard put not to cheer when the breastplate and the fur-collared cape came off; then everything else started coming off, too, and she could sense that Dorian was ready to cheer as well, or to congratulate her on her good fortune. Josephine was paying more attention to showing off for Blackwall than to Cullen's increasing nakedness.

At last, Cullen had nothing left but his smallclothes, and chose not to bet those, rather to Antonia's relief. Some things were best kept for ... well, her. Cullen glared at Varric. "Don't say a word, dwarf."

"I tried to warn you, Curly."

"Never bet against an Antivan, Commander." Josephine grinned, stacking up her winnings.

"I'm leaving," Cassandra announced. "I don't want to witness our commander's walk of shame back to ... wherever he's going." She raised an eyebrow in Antonia's direction, her eyes twinkling.

"Well, I do." Dorian winked at Cullen, who blushed.

"You've got your own walk to do," the Iron Bull said, grabbing Dorian by the back of his robes. "Come on. You can be shameful at my place."

Cole was staring at Cullen in shock. "It comes off. I didn't know it came off ..." He got up, still staring, and wandered away from the table.

Blackwall bent over Josephine. "My lady, may I help you carry your winnings?"

"Thank you, kind ser." She smiled at him, and they left together.

Antonia looked at Cullen, letting her gaze drift down his naked chest, then left the table with Varric so Cullen could slip away with a certain amount of dignity. She would see Cullen soon enough ... and was grateful to Josephine for getting his clothes off for her. Behind her, Cullen hastily gathered his clothes, which Josephine had thoughtfully left behind for him, and hurried out of the room.

Varric smiled at Antonia. "I'm glad you decided to join us tonight. It's too easy to mistake you for the Inquisitor."

She knew what he meant, but couldn't resist a little joke at his expense. "You're mistaking me for me? Just how much did you have to drink, Varric?"

He didn't rise to the joke, however. "It's easy to forget you're not just an icon, or a symbol, like one of those statues of Andraste, holding bowls of fire. At least, it is for me."

"Varric, you know who I am."

"Yeah ... but you're damned impressive. Sometimes it's nice to see you as ... just another person, you know?"

"Oh, I know. It's nice to be seen that way, too."

"Good. You up for another game when this is all over?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

Varric smiled. "I'm glad. Of course, I think it'll take a while to talk Cullen into another one. Maybe if we work the 'revenge' angle."

"Oh, I think I can manage." Antonia winked at him.

"Maybe you should go get started on that, then."

"Thank you, Varric."

"Anytime, Herald."


	73. Cards and Chess

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_28 Drakonis, 9:42_

Upstairs in her quarters, she found Cullen just getting into bed. "Oh, I missed the show."

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly not amused.

Quickly stripping down to camisole and smalls, or as quickly as her boot-laces would allow, she said, "It's a good thing you never get cold," trying and failing to stifle a giggle.

"I am never playing cards again," he muttered. "I still can't find my—it doesn't matter. I don't know how Varric talked me into that."

"I thought that was fun—I was going to invite you to the next diamondback night."

Cullen groaned. "I don't think so."

"That's too bad. Watching you lose made me want to play cards more often."

"I do not need help embarrassing myself in front of you."

Antonia sat down next to him on the bed, putting her hands on his chest. His skin was warm, almost hot to the touch, as he usually was, and the muscles were firm under her fingertips. "Oh, but you were blushing. It was adorable." She bent and kissed his chest. He felt and tasted so good under her lips that she kissed him again, and again, working her way to the hollow of his throat.

"Maker's breath." But the tone was one of annoyance, rather than arousal.

Antonia stopped kissing him with some reluctance, sitting up to look at him. "You're not seriously upset about this, are you? Because I don't think anyone thought that was embarrassing—mostly, they thought it was funny, and admired your valiant attempt to win back our collective honor from Josephine the card sharp." She climbed over him and got under the covers. "It meant a lot to me that you came, and to Varric and the others, too."

"Really?"

"Of course! You and I have been spending so much time together, I think they all feel a little ... unsure of where they fit, and they're all very important to me. Having you there tonight, telling stories and entering into the spirit of the game, will make everyone more comfortable with you. Isn't that worth parting with a bit of your dignity?"

"I suppose, when you put it that way ..." He lifted an arm, letting her curl up against his side.

"You know the next time we go into battle, they're all going to count on you to have their back—and they'll feel better about it now that they've seen yours."

Cullen groaned.

"No, seriously, pun aside," Antonia said. "We're a better unit if we know each other better."

"Have you ever left a card game in nothing but your smalls?"

"No, but then, I hate being cold. Varric and the Iron Bull fleeced me proper the first several times we played ... and unlike Josephine, they didn't give my winnings back." She looked at him with curiosity. "What possessed you to start betting with your clothes, anyway?"

"I don't know." She was happy to see him smile a bit and feel the tension start to leave his body. "I was just so sure I knew what she was going to do, and it seemed as though I nearly won every hand and then made one small error, so the next hand had to go better." He shook his head. "Foolish of me."

"Cards and chess—very different skills," Antonia said. "My strategy is usually to bet as little as I can and just enjoy the game."

"I used to be quite good at it. We often played in the barracks at night." Cullen shivered suddenly. "We had a game planned the night after Uldred's meeting."

"Is that why you tried to leave at the beginning of the game, those memories?" she asked quietly. He nodded, and Antonia wrapped herself around him, trying to impart whatever comfort she could. "I'm sorry."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm ... mostly glad I stayed."

"Did you notice the way Black—Rainier and Josephine were looking at each other? Quite a difference from how unhappy she was that I had him brought here from Orlais."

Cullen looked at her in surprise. "She wasn't unhappy with you. She was unhappy with him, for not telling us all—especially her—the truth."

"Oh. So ... you knew about the two of them?"

He smiled, leaning over to kiss her temple. "I'm surprised your network hadn't picked up on it yet."

"I am, too ... although with the Iron Bull busy with Dorian, and Krem busy with Scout Harding, information trickles in a little more slowly these days."

"What about Varric? Who's got his spy network tangled up? Or should we find him someone?"

"Oh, now that _is _adorable. Commander Cullen, playing matchmaker!" She shifted until she was lying on top of him. "No one would ever believe it."

"We've talked before about what a terrible influence you are, haven't we?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"I'm not the one who bet their pants on a hand of Wicked Grace," she reminded him.

"More's the pity, too."

Their mouths were very close together now. "We could try that sometime."

"Or ... we could skip the cards." His lips just brushed hers.

"How do we know who wins?" She pulled back just a little, teasing him.

With a low growl, he rolled her over, his hand on her thigh pulling her leg over his hip so she could feel him against her. "Is this a competition, Inquisitor?" he asked, his tone dark and just a little dangerous.

"Possibly." She wrapped the other leg around his waist, arching against him, the thin layers of their smallclothes only enhancing the sensation. "But what are the rules?"

Cullen chuckled low in his throat. "I'll tell you after I've won."

Whatever reply Antonia might have made was lost in his kiss. Hours later, she still wasn't certain what the rules had been, but they both were satisfied with the outcome.

* * *

_A/N: In case anyone is wondering, neither Jaws of Hakkon nor Descent will appear in this story; but I am adding on to include Trespasser. Given the overall length of this story, however, Trespasser content (and therefore spoilers) won't be showing up for another few months.  
_


	74. Appetizer

_This chapter is NSFW; it was highly entertaining to write, and I hope will be equally fun to read! Thanks to all of you for being part of this story as it unfolds - I love sharing it with you as much as I loved writing it._

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_6 Cloudreach, 9:42_

Cullen was absolutely on fire.

Contrary to her usual practice at these dull dinners, Josephine had seated him only a couple of chairs away from Antonia, in earshot of her, almost within touching distance. But if anything, it had been a greater torment to be so close and yet still separated by stuffy nobles who were boasting of their skills and prowess, leaning over next to her so close they could probably smell the flowery scent of her hair.

Most of the time, he could have enjoyed the build of anticipation over the course of the long, slow meal, teasing looks and the occasional brush of hands just increasing the eventual pleasure when they could be together in the privacy of her quarters. But in this case, she had returned only yesterday from an unusually long trip away, and come home too late last night for a proper welcome home, which meant that it had been something like ten days since he had touched her. Maybe more.

All of which contributed to his current state, in which every look and every occasional brush of hands severely threatened his equilibrium. He kept looking at Josephine, hoping she would indicate the end of the meal, but it appeared never-ending, course after course of overly complicated food.

He tried to be polite to his dinner companions, but if they wanted intelligent conversation and some type of learned commentary on the military situation, they were out of luck tonight. The sight of the nobles flirting with Antonia made him want to stand up and claim her as his right there.

Not for the first time, he wished she would agree to at least become engaged. Their relationship was well-known at Skyhold and a relatively open secret amongst the rest of the Inquisition, but outside the Inquisition she appeared to be free and unencumbered. Not that he doubted her, but that didn't make the situation any more enjoyable. A ring on her finger would have made him considerably more happy.

Antonia caught his eye, smiling, and he smiled back, but what he really wanted was to drag her away from the table and have his way with her on the nearest flat and reasonably private surface. As he did so often, he blessed his extensive training; Templars were good at self-control, if nothing else.

At last the fruit and cheese at the end of the meal were served. People began getting up, milling about the main hall with their brandies and sherries, chatting with one another. There were at least two more hours of this before he could drag Antonia off to bed, based on Josephine's rigid schedule.

He meandered up and down the hall for a few minutes, making an effort to smile and be friendly. It was a chore at the best of times—he didn't particularly like nobles, didn't really understand them, and found most of their conversational topics utterly boring. And these were not the best of times, because there in front of him was Antonia, her jacket buttoned snugly over her lovely breasts, her pants cupping the rounded curves of her rear the way he loved to do when she was—argh. At this rate, he wouldn't make it through two more minutes, much less two more hours.

To entertain himself, he began looking around the room at the decorations and furnishings, trying to decide if anything needed to be replaced. And he noticed something quite interesting—particularly interesting in his current situation—that he had never been aware of before. Next to a giant statue of a bird there hung a long, heavy green velvet curtain. The two of them together created an alcove of sorts. If you stood behind the statue, next to the curtain, you couldn't be seen. Looking around carefully, he determined that no one was paying him any particular attention, and he slipped into that space. Perfect. From here he could look out and see if anyone was coming near his hiding place, but he didn't have to make small talk. And he felt a little bit like a small boy again, hiding in his mother's cupboards with a stolen cookie.

Of course, then Antonia walked by his little alcove, and he no longer felt like a small boy. He wondered—if he could get away with the illicit act of daring that was hiding in a corner, could he get away with something more interesting?

In a normal situation, what he was considering would have been unthinkable. He hesitated over it even now. But he hadn't had a moment alone with her in entirely too long, and he was so hungry for the feel of her in his arms that he didn't think he could make it the couple more hours politeness—and Josephine's iron-clad rules—dictated.

He didn't have long to wait before Antonia walked by again. When she did, he reached out from the darkness and grabbed her arm, tugging her into his little secret alcove.

She tensed immediately before he pulled her back against him and whispered in her ear, "It's just me."

"Cullen, what in Thedas?"

"Sh. They'll hear you." He closed his eyes, his arms firmly around her, enjoying the feeling of her body against his. "I missed you."

"I can tell."

At first, all he had thought of was holding her, but here she was now, every warm curve of her pressed against him, her breathing coming fast, the scent of her all around him, and he couldn't resist bending his head and letting his lips and tongue trail up the side of her neck.

Antonia gasped, arching her neck to give him better access. The sound, the movement ... without entirely meaning to, his hand moved down over her stomach and cupped her, feeling the heat there already.

She moaned, her hips moving instinctively against him.

"Shh," he said again in her ear.

"Cullen!"

"Mm-hm." Deftly he unfastened the buttons of her pants, his hand reaching inside her smalls and finding her center. She was already wet, and his fingers slid easily along the slick folds of her. "Mmm ..." He moaned quietly into her ear. "Is that for me?"

She grasped his wrist, trying to pull his hand away, whispering, "This is ... Cullen … ah ... we can't ... Oh."

He was rubbing her most sensitive spot now, and her grip loosened on his wrist, the fingers stroking the back of his hand as she laid her head back on his shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered. He thought it was possible that he could, but he really didn't want to.

She shook her head, her hips rolling against his fingers. "No, please, Cullen." She gasped again as he slid two fingers inside her.

"Maker, you feel good," he whispered into her ear, letting his breath caress the delicate shell. He nipped her earlobe while he was at it.

Having her squirming and twisting against him the way she was had his own state of arousal climbing rapidly, but that could wait. Having her in his arms, touching her, that was what he had really needed, and her evident appreciation of his touch was fulfillment enough for the moment.

She was on her toes now, pressing herself against his fingers, moving with him as best she could. It was a bit of a cramped angle, especially given the restrictions of her clothes, but he could hear the change in her breathing, memorized over and over, that said she was getting closer to her peak.

"Cullen," she murmured, her voice little more than a breath, "I can't ..." She shivered. "I'm going to fall."

He could feel the increasing weight of her against him as her knees weakened, and he absolutely could not resist the thrill of pride that shook him at the knowledge that he could do that to her. "I have you," he said, tightening his other arm around her, drawing her more firmly against him. "Trust me." He moved his thumb in little circles, adding a third finger inside her.

Her response was another gasp, her body going very still against him. "Cul-len," she bit out from between her teeth.

That particular low growl of his name was always a signal that he was doing something very, very right. So he kept doing exactly what he was doing, and in another moment her body rippled around his fingers, her mouth opening with pleasure as she arched her heels. Her short nails dug into the back of his wrist.

Cullen held her as the tension ebbed, then let go, disentangling his hand from her clothes only with reluctance. He licked his fingers, wanting the taste of her on his tongue for the rest of the next couple of hours.

Antonia hastily fixed her pants, leaning closer to whisper to him. "You can't blame that on my bad influence. That was ... shocking. And, um, awesome."

He held her for a moment, leaning his forehead against hers. "You're very inspirational."

"What about you?" She blushed a little.

"I'm all right now—but once we're done here ..." He let that thought trail off.

"Oh, you can count on it. That was quite the appetizer, but I still want the main course. And dessert. And possibly the cheese plate."

With a very wicked smile, she pulled away from him, ducking out of the little alcove, leaving Cullen to lean back against the wall feeling remarkably satisfied ... and not a little bit shocked at himself.


	75. There She Was

_Thank you for reading!  
_

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_9 Cloudreach, 9:42_

As the delicate negotiations with the Nevarran nobleman were drawing to a close, there was a sharp rap on the door of Josephine's office, and she called, a trifle impatiently, "Come in!" It was only the third interruption of the meeting, which was a light day. Antonia kept wondering why Josephine called her in to help with these conversations, since she was nowhere near as adept with them as Josephine was, and the number of breaks in the flow of a meeting caused by her presence could get ridiculous rather easily.

This time the interruptor was Cullen, and Josephine gave both of them a look that said she suspected this particular disturbance had less to do with work than it should.

"Pardon me, Ambassador, but I need to borrow the Inquisitor." He looked at Antonia. "You wished to be notified immediately of any new arrivals to Skyhold."

New arrivals! She knew who that meant. With an apologetic glance to Josephine that said she would explain later and a formal bow for the Nevarran, she hurried from the room. "Is it her?"

"It is. They're both here. I'm not certain if Varric will like that they came together."

"I don't think he'll be surprised. After Adamant, I believe Fenris has vowed never to let her out of his sight again."

"I understand the feeling," Cullen muttered under his breath.

Outside in the courtyard, a number of soldiers and other Inquisition workers were standing around gawking at a tall, dark-haired woman and a white-haired elf. Antonia hurried down the steps.

"Hawke!"

"Thank the Maker you didn't call me Champion. That would be just what I needed." She gave Antonia a hug, then turned to Cullen. "Er, do we hug?"

"Perhaps a firm handshake, Cham—Hawke."

"I don't suppose I could talk you into calling me Evelyn."

Cullen shook his head, and Antonia laughed. "I'm glad to see someone else has that issue. It's Inquisitor, Inquisitor all day around here. I keep wondering if I'm going to forget my own name someday."

"That is the danger; you need someone at your side who always remembers to call you by it." Evelyn turned to the elf next to her. "And speaking of—this is Fenris."

"Inquisitor," he said gravely, but there was a twinkle in his green eyes that belied his serious face.

Hearing him speak, Antonia could understand the attraction. He was quite striking to look at, as well, his dark skin setting off the white hair, the green eyes, and the much-fabled lines of lyrium that snaked over his skin. "Fenris. Welcome to Skyhold."

He turned the eyes on Cullen. "Knight-Captain."

"Commander now."

"It appears to suit you."

"It has, thank you."

Hawke's eyes were darting across the courtyard. "Where is he?"

"I don't know—he should have been in the main hall."

"What's wrong with him? He should have been the first one to greet us." She looked at Cullen. "You know how he is."

"I do." Cullen sighed. "He's different now, though. It's a ... different enemy, and a situation unlike that in Kirkwall. No real need for a spy network in Skyhold. Everyone already knows everything." He looked at bit disgruntled, and Antonia smothered a smile. After his shocking and arousing stunt at the dinner the other night, Josephine had had the curtains moved a good two feet away from the statues.

"So what is he doing with his time?" Hawke asked.

"Writing books, mostly, although he comes with me on most of my expeditions. It's hard to face combat without Bianca." Antonia smiled.

"It is, isn't it." Hawke nodded. "So you're keeping him busy, but you're not taking care of him."

"Something like that. Let's check the tavern; he might be in there with the Chargers."

"The Chargers?"

"Yes. Remember the one-eyed Qunari? His men are pretty much the life of the party in Skyhold."

"That sounds like the place to find Varric," Fenris spoke up. His tone was even, emotionless, and Antonia wondered how he really felt about the dwarf, and vice versa. Varric spoke of Fenris with respect, but no notable affection. Could they both love the same woman, even if, in Varric's case, it was the deep love of a friend and kindred soul, and not somehow feel threatened by the other's place in her life?

Hawke walked along next to Fenris appearing serenely unconscious of any conflict in her husband's enthusiasm. Or perhaps she was just used to it.

"How is your daughter?" Antonia asked as they walked.

Hawke and Fenris exchanged a glance full of long arguments. "She's with my sister and Isabela on the _Temptress of the Seas_. No doubt being spoiled rotten."

"Yes, because just where you want a small girl is on a ship full of pirates," Fenris growled.

"She's having the time of her life!"

Fenris kept quiet at that, but his silence was eloquent of disagreement.

The tavern was humming, as it so often was, and Varric, as anticipated, sat at a table with the Iron Bull and Krem and several of the other Chargers, telling a raucous story. "No shit," he was saying. "There she was, nothing but a rope and a pair of scissors, and there's the big dragon, hovering over her—"

"And there was the elf, climbing the dragon's neck and performing the truly difficult task," Fenris cut in, a sardonic smile crossing his face.

Varric jerked his head around in shock, his eyes skipping over Fenris and locking on Hawke.

"Still telling that same story, Varric? Didn't you used to say that your stories were always all new?" Hawke was smiling, but there was a suspicious shine in her eyes matched only by the one in Varric's.

The Iron Bull and the Chargers melted quietly away to let the others have their reunion.

"I would ask what you're doing here, but I suspect I know who the culprit is," Varric said. He glanced at Antonia.

"So good to see you again, my old friend," Hawke said.

Fenris was smiling, which made him look far less forbidding, and Cullen was watching them all with a rather faraway look on his face, as though he was remembering their experiences in Kirkwall. Antonia was struck, as she had been when Thomas Amell visited, by the reminder that these people had all shared in a set of extraordinary experiences that she could only imagine. She felt very small, and very young, and very inexperienced.

"Ah, now, Curly," Varric was saying, "here's someone who can give Ruffles a run for her money. Our Ambassador," he explained to Hawke and Fenris. "Thinks of herself as unbeatable at Wicked Grace." For Antonia's benefit, he added, "The elf's Wicked Grace games are legendary. Or they are as long as Hawke's not in the room." He winked at Fenris. "How long can you stay?"

"Not long," Hawke said regretfully. "We have to get back to Weisshaupt."

"No, we most certainly do not," Fenris said.

"Yes, we do."

The elf folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at her.

Hawke sighed. "Fine. We'll talk about it later."

"We can talk about it later if you like, but we are not going back there. We are going to get our daughter and go home."

They looked at one another, but Antonia could tell Fenris was not going to be moved. It made her wonder what it had been like for him all those years, following Hawke and watching her in one danger after another, which made her think of Cullen and all the times he had to watch her ride out of the gates of Skyhold into untold dangers.

She reached for Cullen's hand, squeezing it, promising herself that someday, when this was all over, if they both survived, she was going to make it up to him by never doing anything dangerous again.

It appeared that he was thinking along the same lines as she was, because he tugged her closer so that he could put his arm around her.

"Ah-ha!" Hawke said, her standoff with Fenris forgotten. She leaned over toward Varric. "How long has this been going on?"

"Oh, pretty much the whole time. It's only gotten sickeningly sweet in the last few months or so. At least they didn't drag it out for a decade, the way you two did." He glared at Fenris.

"It was not a decade."

"Close enough, Broody."

Fenris didn't bother to argue further. There was a call for drinks, and a rearranging of tables, and the Chargers came back with the Iron Bull, and Sera and Cole came down from the upper parts of the tavern. Dorian came in later, and after some bristling from Fenris the mage's legendary charm managed to at least create a detente, although the elf kept himself as far from the Tevinter mage as possible.

Later there was Wicked Grace, which Fenris won handily, much to Josephine's chagrin.

By the time Hawke and Fenris were ready to leave four days later, they felt like part of the family—so much so that Antonia and Varric kept trying to convince them to stay and join the Inquisition.

Fenris stood firm, however. "She has given enough to the good of Thedas," he said to Antonia the night before they were going to leave, standing atop the battlements. "Kirkwall took everything from her, and gave her back almost nothing. I ... even I added to her burdens, time and again," he added, almost to himself. "Now I am going to take her away far from all of this and give her what I can—a home and a family." He looked sideways at Antonia. "I imagine that is an aim shared by Cullen. I do not know if I envy or pity him for staying behind when you go into battle—it is hard not to know what is happening, but sometimes I wonder if it is not harder to be there and see every moment of danger firsthand."

"And for Hawke which was worse?" Antonia asked. "To have you with her in combat and know that you shared in her danger, or to leave you behind and know the worry you must be feeling?"

He huffed a soft laugh. "It depended very much on the situation. There were moments of both, certainly. Overall, it worked best for both of us to fight together. I do not know if it would be the same for you." Thoughtfully, he said, "I am a fighter; it is what I have always been. Cullen, on the other hand, is a protector. I am not certain he would be able to fight at your side and not want to make you safer, somehow." He looked at her directly. "He is a very good man; he stood fast in Kirkwall in a situation where a lesser man would have compromised his principles many times over."

"I wish I could have been there."

"No. That you do not. Your work is here, and it makes a great deal of difference." He smiled. "Hawke was younger than you are when she came to Kirkwall—she was already formidable when I met her, but a great deal of her air of command has been learned over the last ten years. She was the Champion Kirkwall needed; I am not certain anyone else could have accomplished what she did. But she would not do as well leading the Inquisition, a task you appear to be performing admirably. Do not compare yourself to her. They are different situations and they require different approaches."

"Thank you, Fenris."

He inclined his head gravely, and they left the battlements in search of the Wicked Grace game in progress.

The next day, Varric stood with Antonia watching them leave. "I wish she could stay," he said, "but Broody has a point. She's deserved a rest; so has he, frankly. If she stayed on here she couldn't help but get involved. And that might create problems in the leadership—I'd hate to see my two favorite people in competition with one another." He smiled up at Antonia.

"Varric! That's so sweet of you."

"Yeah,well, don't let it get around. Thank you, Antonia."

"It was my pleasure, Varric."


	76. Debriefing

_Many thanks to all of you for reading! Some NSFW content this chapter.  
_

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_17 Cloudreach, 9:42_

For once, Antonia and her crew returned to Skyhold in the middle of the day, with time for a good long rest before dinner. They started unloading the horses in the middle of the courtyard.

"And three," Varric said.

"Two," Dorian continued, grinning.

"Bingo. There he is, right on schedule, boss." The Iron Bull winked at her as she looked over her shoulder to see Cullen hurrying down the stairs from his office.

After that it was difficult to focus on anything but the smile on his handsome face as his long strides made short work of the distance between them. Mindful of the busy courtyard, they stopped just out of touching range.

"Welcome back, Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Commander."

Most of the time when she was coming back to Skyhold from time away, all Antonia wanted was a bath, a nap, some hot food, and a few hours spent entirely by herself. Having grown up an only child in a very large house, she had developed a need for privacy that was sometimes hard to fulfill in Skyhold, and nearly impossible while camping out on an expedition. Today, however, something about the look on his face, the love and longing he tried so hard and failed utterly to hide behind a mask of professionalism, the way he dropped everything to come and meet her at the gate ... All she really wanted right now was to go away with him behind closed doors where no one could interrupt them.

"I ... ah, don't suppose you might have some time to debrief me on recent events in Skyhold, perhaps in my quarters?"

"Why, certainly," he said in surprise and evident happiness. "I have a few things to finish up, but then I could certainly be available for a, uh, debriefing."

Behind Antonia, the Iron Bull groaned loudly. "'Debriefing'? Can't you come up with a better name for it than that?"

"Oh, Commander, debrief me!" Dorian said, in a terrible parody of Antonia's accent.

Antonia glared at both of them. "If I was a mage, I'd turn you both into a pile of ashes."

"I might let you," Cullen said.

"If you'd like, I could write you both some new dialogue," Varric said. "Something witty and sparkling, but with subtlety."

"Write it for them," Antonia said, gesturing toward the other two, who were still grinning. She lifted her saddlebags off the back of her horse, letting the stableboy, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide his own smile, lead the animal away. "Commander, I shall be awaiting your report."

"Inquisitor. Shall I fetch Phoenix from the kennels and bring him up?"

"No, I'll go get him at dinner, I think." The growing mabari did tend to be a bit of a distraction on occasion, and Antonia felt the need to have Cullen all to herself.

"As you wish." He bowed his head, but she caught the half-smile on his face before he turned away.

It took him longer than she'd hoped it would. She had unpacked, undressed, had a snack from the tray Roya had brought up as soon as Antonia had ridden through the gates, and was relaxing in a hot bath filled with foamy bubbles when she heard his familiar tread on the stairs. He took them three at a time, as usual.

"Cullen? I'm back here," she called. He had had the tub installed in her room a month ago while she was away, in a back room that had previously been used for storage. Although, she realized now with a flutter of anticipation, they had never shared a bath before.

"What if it had been someone else?" he asked. Antonia could hear the clank of his breastplate hitting the floor.

"No one else takes my steps three at a time," she pointed out. "You're going to break your neck doing that."

He was in her doorway now, stripped down to shirt and trousers. "Maker's breath," he said, stopping to look at her, covered in bubbles. "To reach a sight like that a few seconds earlier, it's well worth a little risk."

"Someone," Antonia pointed out, "made this an extra-big bathtub. Big enough for two."

"Someone was apparently more clever than he knew."

"Someone takes a long time to get his clothes off."

Cullen grinned at that, yanking his shirt off over his head and quickly stripping off the rest. He climbed into the tub, sinking into the water and leaning against the opposite end. "This is nice. I might have to make use of this more often."

"Does that mean you'll consider moving in with me?"

"Will you let me ask you that question I tried to ask you before?"

They looked at each other, neither willing to yield on the issue. Antonia wanted him out of that ruined building with the birds nesting in the branches above his bed; Cullen wanted a ring on her finger that marked her as his, and, more, a promise for the future. But he didn't want to burden her with his sleep issues, and he did want to shield her from the continued problems caused by his lyrium withdrawal. Antonia wanted to make the promise he so longed to hear, but she didn't want it to be before she faced Corypheus. Neither of them had any objection to the other one's demand, but equally neither of them had any intention of backing down from their own position. Not just at the moment, anyway.

"Well, at least you're here now."

"So I am."

Antonia shifted in the tub, the water sloshing around her and the bubbles moving over her skin, until she was stretched out on top of him, both of them groaning at the slide of their wet bodies together. "I love you."

"My light," he whispered, cupping her face and bringing it to his for a slow, sensuous kiss. Antonia brought her knees up so that she knelt above him. He was hard already, and she ground herself against him. Cullen groaned, and she rose up, lowering herself slowly onto him.

"Cullen," she whispered. The sensations in this position were intense, exacerbated by the slickness of the bubbles around and between them. Antonia let her head fall back as she lifted and lowered herself again. Cullen's mouth drew a path down the line of her throat and down her chest. One hand splayed across her back anchored her to him, the other found her breast, fingers sliding over the wet, soapy skin. His thumb flicked over her nipple.

His mouth closed around the other nipple, suckling gently, and Antonia gasped. His hands and mouth, so gentle, so careful, sent a shiver through her. She sat forward, tipping his head up toward her. "I love you," she said again, and kissed him. Cullen tangled his hand in her short hair, holding her to him as she continued to move on him, slowly, the water swirling around them and running over the sides of the tub.

Still kissing, they flowed into completion together.

Cullen stroked her bangs back from her face gently. "You are so beautiful."

She leaned her forehead against his. "I am the luckiest woman in Thedas."

"You are the most amazing woman in Thedas."

"Only to you."

He smiled, bumping his nose against hers. "Who else's opinion matters?"

With a final kiss, she got out of the tub, reaching for a towel, and handed one to him. "Stay and take a nap with me?"

"I really should get back."

"Will the Inquisition collapse if you don't?"

"Possibly not," he admitted.

She put her arms around his waist, looking up at him. "Then stay with me."

Cullen looked concerned, stroking her hair. "Are you all right? You seem ..."

"I don't know. I came home, and there you were, and I just ... I can't believe ..." She stopped. "I sound like you."

"You do, rather. I don't think that's a good sign."

Antonia smiled. "Do you remember at the Winter Palace, when you said you never wanted to let go of me? That's how I feel—I have you here right now, and I don't know what tomorrow or the next day will bring, and I just want to ... hold on to you, just for a little while."

"Well, when you put it that way, love, I can't think of anything more important than staying here and taking a nap with you." He gave an exaggerated yawn. "I find I'm rather sleepy myself, right now."

"Thank you."

"Anything for you."


	77. Foolhardy

_Thanks for reading, everyone! _

* * *

_20 Cloudreach, 9:42_

Cullen waited in the back of the group, where Antonia had assigned both him and Phoenix. She stood at the front, with Dorian, Varric, and the Iron Bull ranged just behind her. Across the rubble of the courtyard he could see one of the Red Templars. With all the red lyrium sticking out of him, he looked more like an abomination than a man, and Cullen wondered what it had all been for—the Templars were more like mages than the mages, these days.

Then Antonia took off, her greataxe raised above her head. She sprinted across the courtyard, and was leaping in the air, bringing the weapon down on the Templar's head, before anyone else could even get moving.

The Iron Bull growled, "Not again," and took off after her. Dorian sent a blast of flame at another abomination-like thing on the ramparts, and Varric and Bianca focused on that one as well. Cullen, left to himself, followed the Iron Bull, Phoenix at his heels.

Antonia and the Iron Bull were surrounded by Red Templars now, some abominations, some not. Cullen knocked one away with his shield and stabbed another one with a sword to the gut, just under the breastplate. One thing he knew very well was the weaknesses in the Templar armor. Phoenix's sharp teeth were nipping at the Templars' heels, and he hoped the dog would remember his training and keep on the other side from the fighters so they wouldn't accidentally catch him with their swords.

When the last of the little knot was down, Cullen looked for Antonia, but she was already on the stairs, jumping on top of a stack of crates and leaping, the axe coming down on the head of a Templar abomination.

Cullen found another target in the corner of the courtyard, and headed that direction with the Iron Bull. In a few more minutes, those last two were down, and Cullen wiped his sword clean and put it away.

"Does she always do that?" he asked the Iron Bull.

"Oh, yeah. The boss isn't one to hang back."

Cullen could have done without that information. He imagined his nightmares would have some new horrors when they got home and she went into the field without him again.

"And she doesn't give you orders?"

"Well ... she used to give some, but the four of us have worked together enough, we know. Varric picks off the ones on the edges, Dorian keeps an eye on us and blasts the guys with fire, and I back her up and try to get between her and anyone trying to kill her."

Antonia came toward them slowly, stopping to search the grounds for anything interesting she could pick up. "Not bad, eh?" she said to Cullen, her brown eyes sparkling.

It came to Cullen that perhaps he was getting too old for the front lines—he no longer looked on combat as exhilarating. It was a rare moment when the ten years' age difference between them seemed like a lot. Most of the time, he forgot about it entirely, but right now he felt every day of it.

She was looking Phoenix over, praising the dog for coming through the combat without a scratch. "Now, just like that again next time, okay?" she said.

Cullen bit back all the remarks he wanted to make. She did this all the time; these were the people who watched her back, and they loved her. They would get her through if anyone could ... and it was probably far too late to change the way she fought. Her personality was to charge, to be in front in the fight; asking her to be more cautious would probably only cause her to doubt herself, and that could be deadly in combat. He would wait and address the issue on the training ground, once they were safely back at Skyhold.

"What's next, Inquisitor?" he asked.

"Farther in, Commander. Sadly, it looks as though Samson has already pulled out."

"It does look that way." He was angry at that—he was smarter than Samson, and tired of being outplayed by the man.

"Let's go see what he left behind."

Just inside the door of the temple, they fought a giant lyrium monster with a huge arm that he kept bringing down on or near Antonia. She was staggering, bleeding from somewhere, but the greataxe kept flashing.

"Potion, boss!" the Iron Bull called.

She ignored him, slicing at the thing again, and was sent flying backward, skidding along the ground on her back. Up again, she charged at him, her head lowered. Her face was covered in blood from a wound Cullen couldn't see.

"Potion, Antonia!" Dorian shouted to her.

If she heard, she gave no sign of it. At last, the big monster caught her in the side, knocking her into the building. Before Varric in his turn could urge a potion on her, she fumbled one out of her belt and drank it down, shaking her head as it spread healing through her.

Cullen was seriously regretting the decision to come along right now. She fought as though she had nothing to lose, and it sent a chill through him. He had been in combat before, a number of times ... but never with someone he loved. He wondered how Fenris and Hawke had done it so often. Perhaps having had so much practice, they had learned to rely on each other. But he wasn't sure he could handle much more—he was no longer certain which was worse, letting her go and not knowing what could happen, or watching her dare death with such audacity and waiting for the fatal blow to strike her.

He shook the thoughts off. She was good at what she did—he had watched her in the training ring, and he knew she knew what she was doing. He had to allow for the possibility that he was over-reacting out of his love for her. He would have to trust her the rest of the way.

Inside, the building was half destroyed. "Samson must have ordered his men to sack his headquarters so we couldn't," he said with disappointment.

"Still, we've dealt him a blow," Antonia said. "Let's get rid of these guys."

She was off to a knot of Templars and their abominations. Dorian's fire spells worked a bit too well—it was hard to see through the flames he created—but as the knot Antonia was fighting seemed to be all but down, Cullen saw another group on the other side of the room, and he charged them, shield and sword working in familiar concert. Only after he saw Antonia leap up next to him and heard the Iron Bull's yell and Phoenix's growl did he realize he had just done exactly what he had been criticizing Antonia for.

When the foes were all down, the Iron Bull clapped Cullen heartily on the back, sending him staggering. "See? You're getting it, Commander. Few more of these combats, you'll be as foolhardy as she is."

"Bull, I thought you said it wasn't possible to be as foolhardy as I am," Antonia said, grinning.

"I'm rethinking the position."

Dorian's flames died down around them, and they all took out water skins, drinking deeply and rinsing the bits of red lyrium off of skin and hair. Dagna had given them an ointment she said should shield them from the effects, but none of them wanted to push that too far.

"What do you think is in there?" Antonia asked Cullen, gesturing toward the door ahead. The inside of the temple looked and sounded deserted; it didn't seem as though there were any more Templars left.

"Hopefully something they forgot," he said grimly.


	78. Samson's Tranquil

_Thanks for reading, everyone! Happy Friday!  
_

* * *

_21 Cloudreach, 9:42_

Inside the ruins of the temple, a man in mage robes lay with his shoulders propped up against a statue. He was pale, his skin waxy, and his breathing loud, each breath clearly a difficulty. He attempted a smile as Antonia approached him. "Hello, Inquisitor." His voice rasped over the words.

"You know who I am?"

Cullen knelt next to him. "It's Maddox, Samson's Tranquil," he said softly. "Something's wrong; I'll send for the healers."

Maddox turned to look at him. "That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen. I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won't be long now."

Gently, Antonia said, "We wouldn't have hurt you, Maddox. We only wanted to ask you questions."

"That is just what I couldn't allow. I destroyed the camp with fire; we all agreed it was best. It gave Samson the chance to escape." His eyelids were drooping now, his lips blue.

"You threw your lives away? For _Samson_?" Cullen asked, clearly shocked. "Why?"

Maddox made a last attempt to focus on Cullen's face, forcing the words out. "Samson saved me even before he needed me. I ... wanted to help ..." And he was gone. Antonia wanted to weep for him.

Cullen stood up, looking pale and shocked. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking around. "We should ... check the temple," he said slowly. "Maddox may have missed something."

"Good idea. Why don't you stay here with him, prepare the body for a pyre, and we'll look. We're used to it." Antonia put a hand on his upper arm, squeezing gently.

He stared at her for a moment, and she wasn't certain he heard her, then he nodded. "Yes. Good idea. He ... was a good man. He deserved better than this." There was an edge to his voice, and Antonia could practically see him writing Maddox's name in the mental ledger he kept of reasons to kill Samson.

In a corner, Dorian found a pile of bottles that had clearly contained red lyrium. They appeared to have been licked clean.

Varric looked at them, shaking his head. "Drinking it, wearing it, licking it ... you can't say Samson isn't committed." There was something in his voice that said he was remembering his brother, and Antonia wished he would let her hug him.

"How much lyrium is this Samson taking?" Dorian asked. "His resistance must be extraordinary."

"That's not comforting," Antonia said, continuing to search through a pile of half-charred scraps of paper.

On a table, she found a note with Cullen's name on it, taking it to him as he worked over Maddox's body.

"Samson left a message? For me?" Cullen took it, breaking the seal, scanning it rapidly.

"What does it say?"

"It says 'drink enough lyrium and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry lied to us—you are fighting the wrong battle. Corypheus chose me as his general ...' It goes on like that, hardly makes any sense." He crumpled the note in his hand and threw it across the room. "Does he really think I'll understand his demented ravings? Do they even matter?" Cullen looked down at Maddox. "What a bloody waste."

"Yes, it is."

"This is a dismal place to die," he said. "It can't have been much of a place to live, either, under Samson's command."

"What else do you remember about Samson, that is, the man he used to be?" Antonia asked, wondering if perhaps there was anything buried in Cullen's memory that might help.

"What difference does that make now?" he snapped. "'He used to be kind' only goes so far. Although ..." He paused, calming himself down with a visible effort. "Maddox died to help him escape. Samson does command loyalty—but how?"

Antonia wanted to comfort him, but she sensed he would reject it at the moment. These were his personal demons, and he had to fight them on his own. "I'm going to go see if we can find anything else."

"Good luck," Cullen said bitterly. "All I see is smoke and ash." He took a long, shuddering breath and reached for her hand, clinging to it tightly. "If this is Samson's idea of remaking the world, I prefer yours."

"Ours," she corrected him, and he attempted a smile, his mouth forming the word as an echo of her.

Then he let go and she went back to see if the others had found something.

It was Dorian who recognized what he was looking at; any of the rest of them would have overlooked the tools as useless scraps of metal. "Antonia, do you know what these are? They're lyrium-forging tools. Or parts of them, anyway. Intact, these would be worth a fortune."

They called Cullen to look at them, and his mind leaped beyond where theirs had gone. "If these are Maddox's tools, he may have made them to forge Samson's armor ... and if they forged Samson's armor, maybe somehow Dagna could use these to unforge it." He looked at them, his eyes glittering. "I think we have him."


	79. Moot

_Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate it.  
_

* * *

_28 Cloudreach, 9:42_

Antonia poked her head into Cullen's office. "You sent for me, Commander, regarding an update on Samson?"

Eustace, who had been scribbling on a dispatch, got up hastily and left the office via the other door.

"You don't have to leave on my account," Antonia called after him. "I think we've traumatized the poor man for life," she said to Cullen.

"I really can't say I regret that very much." He smiled at her, and she couldn't help thinking of that day on the battlements, the way her heart had pounded as he leaned in for that first kiss. It seemed a long time ago, now, but it had only been just over half a year.

"No, I don't, either." They stood giving each other foolish smiles for a few minutes before Antonia cleared her throat, recalling that she had actually come in here today on legitimate business, for a change. "So ... Samson?"

"Yes, of course." Cullen looked down at the desk, running his finger down a dispatch as he spoke. "The red lyrium deposits are being destroyed and we've cut the Red Templars down to the core." He shook his head sadly. "It's a pity Maddox thought his sacrifice was the only answer. But that leaves Samson with a severely curtailed army and enchanted armor he can't maintain. You did it." He looked at her, eyes shining with pride.

"We did it," she corrected. "We both worked to make this happen. Don't sell yourself short."

Cullen's ears turned red. "Well, I—thank you. But my work's not finished yet. Recruits are pouring in, more than a few ex-Templars among them. We've struck a blow and given people hope. This is a true victory."

The door behind Antonia flew open and Dagna came hurrying in, holding something in her hand. "Inquisitor! I finished it." She stopped, looking at both of them. "Sorry—are you talking? Have it anyhow." She handed the item to Antonia.

"You mean, this rune? This is what you finished?" It was round and reddish, but otherwise loooked fairly typical for a rune. Not that Antonia handled many runes, so perhaps there was something she was missing.

Dagna looked indignant; clearly Antonia had indeed missed something. "It's not just any rune. I made it with red lyrium and what's left of poor Maddox's tools. The rune acts on the median fissures of lyrium to—" She looked at Antonia and evidently realized that the technical details were going straight over the Inquisitor's head. "It'll destroy Samson's armor. He'll be powerless."

Antonia grinned, looking at the rune with new respect. "We should render our enemies powerless at a single stroke more often."

Cullen was looking at it, too, with determination in his face. "Maddox covered Samson's tracks thoroughly. But wherever Samson's retreated, we'll find him. Your army stands ready, Inquisitor. For Samson, for Corypheus, for whatever you command."

Dagna was practically bouncing on her toes. "You mind if I get back? I'm in the middle of a dozen different things."

"No, not at all. Thank you, Dagna."

Blessing Eustace's forethought, Antonia locked the door behind the little dwarf. No sooner had she done so than Cullen picked her up and spun her around, laughing. "We have him! We have the tools we need to go after Samson and go after Corypheus and end this once and for all." He let her down and kissed her exuberantly. Drawing her with him, he sat down on the edge of his desk, his hands stroking her arms. "What's the first thing you want to do when all this is over?"

She stifled her automatic rejection of the speculation, remembering that they were in his office, where the future was fair game. "I don't know, really—stay on with the Inquisition as long as is necessary. Not just from duty, but ..." She gestured around her. "I love Skyhold. It's the first place I've ever lived that really felt like mine, like home."

"And after that? Do you want to travel, visit the world, or would you rather settle down somewhere?" There was an eagerness in his face and voice that she loved, even while it disquieted her. They weren't there yet; they weren't even close. But she played along anyway, not wanting to dampen the mood.

"Well, I think the first place we should go is South Reach."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. I liked your family; I'd like to spend enough time with them to be comfortable around them. And when this is over your mother will want to see you, to reassure herself that you're still in one piece."

"Probably so." His face softened, thinking of his mother. "I'm sorry she couldn't come at Wintersend."

"I'm sure she is, too."

"What of your family?" he asked. "Should we go to Ostwick?" There was something hesitant in the 'we' that told her Cullen was still having trouble trusting the concept of their futures being entwined.

"Eventually, I believe we'll have to. Not that they're bad people—I quite like my siblings—but they don't know me, and it's likely to be all formal noble trappings that you will absolutely hate."

"For you, I will gladly put up with as many formal noble trappings as are necessary." He leaned his forehead against hers. "And after that?"

Antonia felt suddenly shy. "I think this is ... about as far ahead as I can look in one conversation."

"Understood." He smiled. "Of course, if you keep fighting the way you did in the Temple of Dumat, the conversation might be moot, anyway." His tone was light, but she could hear an undercurrent of disapproval in it, and she pulled back from him.

"What do you mean?"

"We were all standing in the gate, and then you weren't there. What's the purpose of bringing a team along if you aren't going to wait for them?"

"They knew what they were doing."

"But they didn't know what you were doing. You're the leader of the Inquisition—you have a responsibility to protect yourself."

Antonia couldn't believe how quickly they had gone from happily, if hesitantly, discussing their future to him lecturing her on combat tactics. "I really don't need your input on how I get things done, thank you."

"You need someone's! You're going to get yourself killed rushing off into combat alone like that."

"I haven't yet. And when I need your advice, I'll ask for it."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "You're getting awfully testy over a little constructive criticism."

"Unnecessary criticism, you mean. I don't come in here and question the way you run the army, or go into Josephine's office or Leliana's rookery and criticize the way they do their jobs. I'll thank you for the same courtesy, _Commander._"

"I'm not saying anything your people wouldn't say if they weren't so ..." Cullen stood up, crossing his arms over his chest. "Having to stop in the middle of combat and tell you to drink a healing potion distracts the others and puts them in danger. I know you don't want that."

Part of Antonia knew he was making a valid point, but Cullen was attacking her in a place where she felt extremely vulnerable, especially in front of him, and it made her want to attack back. "Perhaps you were the one who couldn't keep your mind on the combat. Maybe it's a good thing you stay here in your comfortable office while the rest of us put our lives on the line."

His face went white, and she could sense how fiercely he was holding on to his control. "Sometimes it's best to leave the fighting to the younger, less experienced among us," he said in a cold, cutting tone she had never heard from him.

If she hadn't often had the same thought about herself relative to the rest of the Inquisition's leadership, perhaps she could have backed down, taken a breath, and accepted his initial remark in the spirit in which it had been intended. But to hear her own fears coming from his mouth, in that cold voice … Equally coolly, she said, "If that's how you feel, it's a wonder you've been able to keep up with me all this time."

If Antonia had expected anger's heat to melt the sudden ice in him, she was disappointed. He looked down at his desk, giving every indication of a man absorbed in his work. "You may be right, Inquisitor. Perhaps this has all been wasted effort on both our parts. Now, if you'll excuse me …" He looked pointedly at the door.

She let herself out of his office without another word, and nearly collapsed onto the stone of the battlements, her knees shaking. What had she just done? What had they just agreed to? She turned to go back, just as she heard the bolt on the other side sliding home, locking her out, along with everyone else.

Dazed and still angry under it all, she made her way back to her quarters, trying to make sense of what had just happened.


	80. So Cold

_Thanks for reading, all! _

* * *

_8 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Cullen leaned his head on his hand, going over the same dispatch he had just read three times, trying to make sense of it. It was no use.

He sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. It was freezing in his office, or so it felt. He'd had a fever on and off for several days, and kept forgetting to make time to go to the surgeon for the fever powders she made up for him. He wasn't entirely certain he should keep taking them, anyway—what if they were just as habit-forming as the lyrium?

What he wouldn't give for the warmth of Antonia in his arms—

With a groan, he threw the dispatch across the room. He'd been doing well this time, nearly ten minutes without thinking of her. That might have been a record.

After their argument, he had locked the door behind her as much to keep himself from going after her as to keep other people out. He had been so angry at her cavalier dismissal of any consideration for her own safety, and even angrier that the thought of her people's safety hadn't made more of a dent in her considerable stubbornness.

That had been a sleepless night—his first in some time—and in the morning the whole thing had looked stupid and petty ... or at least deserving of further discussion. But by the time he found her at breakfast, talking and laughing with Josephine as though nothing had happened, he was somehow angrier than he had been the day before, and things had continued like that until she left for the Hinterlands, both of them coldly polite but nothing more.

It had surprised Cullen how little he actually felt. Had you asked him a week ago how he would have handled losing her, he would have thought of misery, of decidedly unmanly tears, of desperation. But he mostly just felt numb, and cold. And maybe a little relieved—he had dreaded this so much, the inevitable day when she came to her senses, that there was something almost comforting in no longer having to dread.

In more clear-headed moments, he had considered apologizing. But what he had said to her was perfectly accurate, if possibly stated in a harsher tone than necessary, and if they couldn't have a reasonable discussion then perhaps the relationship wasn't benefiting either of them at the moment. In the meantime, every part of the keep—including his own desk—held memories he could hardly bear to think of. He'd kept Lucky in the kennel ever since, the dog's very name mocking his foolishness at counting on anything good in his life continuing.

"Commander!" Eustace burst into the office, his blue eyes practically bugging out of his head. "Commander, you'll want to come now. It's the Inquisitor—"

Cullen was half out of his seat before he remembered that the Inquisitor being back in Skyhold was no longer the joyous moment it had been. "I am certain if she requires anything, she will let me know."

"No, you don't understand," Eustace said breathlessly. "They're bringing her in on a litter. There was a dragon, they're saying, and—"

Not waiting to hear the rest, Cullen pushed past Eustace, hurrying out onto the battlement. He could see the litter now, see the small figure—so much smaller than it ever seemed she should be—lying on it.

They were coming through the gates as he hurried down the stairs to the lower courtyard. Vivienne, who had gone along on this trip, was down from her horse almost before it stopped, bending over the litter.

"I'm fine, Vivienne," came the impatient, familiar, still-so-beloved voice.

"You are not fine, my dear. You have broken at least two ribs, and I am not at all certain of two others, and you took a nasty blow on the head. You will be carried upstairs, and you will not move from your bed for at least two days." The surgeon was at the mage's shoulder now, her face tight with concern, and the two of them went off with the litter-bearers, Phoenix at their heels.

At least it sounded as though Antonia was going to be all right. Cullen could feel the blood rush back through his body as his heart started beating again. It was one thing not to be with her, but if she died ...

Cullen saw the giant shadow of the Qunari behind him, and turned. The Iron Bull's one good eye was steely and cold, no trace of his usual humor to be seen. He said, "I should kick your ass from here to Par Vollen. And I would, if it wasn't clear you're both equally stupid."

"Did anyone ask you?" Cullen snapped.

"No. Which has never stopped me before." The Iron Bull sighed. "She told Uncle Bull all about it, and I told her she was a stubborn idiot and you're just as bad. For what it's worth, you're probably right, she's too reckless ... but we're the ones who take the brunt of that. You think we're going to let something happen to her?"

Cullen gestured in the direction of the main hall, where the litter-bearers had disappeared on their way up to Antonia's quarters. "Didn't you just?"

"Well ... yeah, okay. But if I hadn't stepped between the dragon's claws and her, we'd be having a whole different talk right now." He gestured to a fresh, healing red wound across his chest.

"In that case ... thank you. On behalf of the Inquisition."

"Yeah. I'm sure that's exactly how you meant it." The Iron Bull shook his head, muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath, and walked off, his sword over his shoulder.

Cole had been the fourth member of this trip, and he looked up at Cullen from under his giant floppy hat, looking puzzled. "Dark," he said.

The spirit definitely knew what he was talking about. Cullen could feel the shadows closing in around him, the ones he'd been trying to ignore for days. Without particularly thinking about it, he crossed the courtyard to the keep and eventually found himself at her door. Would it hurt just to go up and make sure she was well? Surely that was what the Commander would do.

He went up, taking the stairs slowly, one at a time, feeling almost dizzy between the fever and his concern for her. The surgeon was making up what he assumed to be a sleeping draught, and Vivienne was closing the balcony doors and the drapes to keep the light out.

"Commander." Antonia's brown eyes were fixed on him, and he couldn't help but think of all the other times he had stood in this room with her. All he wanted in the world was to go to her right now, hold her hands and rest his head on her shoulder. But he couldn't. He knew that, if he couldn't quite remember why at the moment. It was so cold in the room, even with the doors closed.

"Inquisitor." He pulled himself together enough to be polite. "Are your injuries serious?"

"She will be fine, Commander, if she can get some peace and quiet." Vivienne stood in front of him, her hands on her hips, her meaning clear. And if he hadn't gotten her message, Phoenix's faint growl next to her said the same thing.

"Of course. Inquisitor." He nodded toward Antonia as the surgeon was feeding her the sleeping draught.

"Commander, do you need some more of those fever powders?" the surgeon asked.

"No, I have sufficient." He went back down the stairs, feeling suddenly weary and so cold. He so rarely felt cold, it was a bit of a novelty. There were shadows around him,the whispers beginning. He was shivering too hard to block them out, but he couldn't understand them, either.

By the time he reached his office, he felt as though he were walking through a blizzard made of shadowy hands and faces and the voices of demons, and he didn't even notice when he lost consciousness.


	81. Take Care of Him

_Thanks for reading, everyone!_

* * *

_11 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Antonia woke calling Cullen's name. Dorian, who had been dozing in a chair next to her bed, sat up when she spoke. "What did you say?"

"I was—never mind." It all came flooding back now, their argument and that horrible cold politeness on his face and in his eyes. He had never treated her like that, not even the day they met. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Just over a day." He grinned as her jaw dropped. "Never fear, I haven't been here the whole time."

It was ridiculous the way her heart leaped, hoping that maybe Cullen had come in to sit with her, but Dorian went on.

"Varric was in, Josephine, the Iron Bull, Cole, Sera, Vivienne. Blackwall said he was no good at sickbeds, but he sent up some fruit, and Leliana offered to come sing a healing song when you're feeling better."

"Nice of her." Antonia didn't know what a healing song was, but if it came along with a hot cup of tea and maybe half a cow, roasted, she'd take it. "Food."

"Yes, Your Worship." Dorian lifted a tray onto her lap. "I take it you're feeling better."

"Yes, much. That was a big dragon."

"Whatever possessed you to try to kill a dragon?"

She winced. She had done it because the dragon needed killing, she told herself, but mostly to spite Cullen and show him that her style of fighting could take down Thedas's biggest beasts. Instead, she'd shown herself. Antonia laughed a little.

Dorian was watching her with a knowing look on his face.

"The Iron Bull told you what I told him, didn't he? About my argument with Cullen."

He nodded.

"And you have an opinion."

"Me? No."

It was a lie, but it was a kind lie, so she let it go. And found she couldn't not ask. "H-has Cullen—"

"No. Not since you first came in." Dorian frowned. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen much of him otherwise, either. Or anything at all, really. I understand he's barely come out of his office since the two of you had your ... spat."

"And the whole keep knows about that?"

"That all has gone from sweetness and light to the icy cold of an avalanche? You could say people have noticed." He shrugged. "You have to remember that this is a very small village, and the two of you are among the most important people in that village. What you do, what you say, how you look—it all affects the rest of Skyhold, and by extension, the rest of the Inquisition."

"No." Antonia shook her head in denial. She pushed the tray aside and got out from under the covers, crossing the room to stand at the balcony doors, pushing them open. "No. You can't lay that on me, too. I already carry all of you, with this stupid mark on my hand, and the rest of Thedas. I have a thousand-year-old darkspawn who wants to kill me because one time I opened the wrong door. It all hinges on me fighting, and impressing the nobility, and winning the affection of the people, and maintaining the Inquisition's power. Now I have to maintain a healthy love life to make people happy, too?" There were tears rolling down her cheeks. "That's too much, Dorian. Too much."

He came up behind her. "My dear. I meant only to say that we all care about both of you very much, and to see you both so obviously unhappy makes the rest of us wish we could do something to change the situation."

She turned around and threw her arms around him, letting the tears take her. Dorian held her close while she wept, and she was grateful for his unwavering friendship.

At last the storm was over. "I'm better now," she said, wiping her face on her jacket sleeve.

"Please." He held out a delicate, scented handkerchief. "And no need to give it back." After she blew her nose and wiped off her face, Dorian said, "So what are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. We were only causing each other more anxiety; I think we'll be better off apart." She meant it, too. Never mind that she missed Cullen more with every breath; he was better off not worrying about her. If that was the sacrifice she had to make, she would do it for him. "I'm going to go check in with Josephine."

Downstairs, she found the Ambassador at her desk, Blackwall lounging in a chair in her office, the two of them having a quiet chat. They stopped talking when Antonia came in. She was used to that treatment from most people, but not from two people she was as close to as she was Blackwall and Josephine. "What?" she demanded.

They looked at one another, clearly disagreeing on how much to say. Eventually, Josephine sighed and said, "We were discussing the Commander. He missed the meeting in the War Room yesterday and the day before."

"He what?" He had never missed even one of those before, not for any reason, although once or twice he and Antonia had hurried in at the last minute, hastily rearranging their clothes. "Has anyone been to check on him?"

"The doors are locked," Blackwall said.

"The doors are locked, he hasn't come to meetings, and it didn't occur to anyone that something was wrong?" She remembered something from the day she'd come back, something the surgeon said. "Has he seemed feverish?"

Josephine and Blackwall looked at one another, and Josephine shrugged. "Perhaps?"

Antonia swore, vividly and heartfeltly. Into the sudden shocked silence, she said, "Blackwall, come on. We're breaking down the damn door."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She hurried through the main hall and took the shortcut through Solas's room, stepping aside at the top of the ramp to let Blackwall try the door. He pushed against it with his shoulder first, then got a running start and tried to burst through it that way. Neither worked. So he unslung his shield, got another running start, and bashed the door as if it were a Red Templar.

It burst open, sending Blackwall staggering. Antonia slipped through behind him.

The room was empty, but she caught a faint moan of pain from above her. "Blackwall," she said, seeing that he had found his feet again. "Get me the surgeon, and then ... get me Cassandra." If they had lost Cullen to the lyrium, Cassandra would be the best judge.

Hastily she climbed the ladder. He was shivering, curled into a ball under the covers, murmuring words and phrases that told her plainly he was locked inside his head in the Circle tower again. She laid the back of her hand on his forehead and jerked it away again—he was burning up, even for Cullen, who always ran hot.

"Maker," she whispered. She looked in the corner where he usually kept a pitcher of water; it was almost empty, but there was enough that she could dampen one of his handkerchiefs, and she was sponging his face with the wet cloth when the surgeon came up. "It's the fever again," Antonia explained.

"I thought so." The surgeon's mouth was pinched, in both concern and annoyance that he had let it get this bad.

How long could this have been coming on, if he had been reduced to this condition? Antonia wondered. If they hadn't had that argument, could she have prevented this? Almost certainly, she knew with a sinking heart. If they couldn't bring him back from this, she would always have to know that it had been her fault. Clinging to his hand while the surgeon worked him over, she sent a silent prayer to the Maker that they could bring him out of this without losing him.

Cassandra came up the ladder quickly, her face paling when she saw him.

"Is it as bad as I think it is?" Antonia asked.

"It's not good. We know he doesn't take care of himself the way he should; that cannot have helped." Tactfully, Cassandra didn't blame Antonia, at least, not directly. "I have seen worse, and seen them make a full recovery, and he is very strong." Now she did address Antonia directly. "He will need to be kept quiet, without a lot of ... drama."

Well, there was the blame, loud and clear. It was only what she deserved. "I'm staying until he regains consciousness," she said stubbornly.

"You've got some time," the surgeon said. "We'll have to bring this fever down before he'll be lucid again, and it's disturbingly high. I've seen enough of him to know he carries a naturally higher temperature than most, so that should mitigate some of the effects, but we have to act quickly." She gave Antonia strict instructions on his care for the next several hours. "I have patients I can't leave for that long, but I'll be back to check in on both of you then."

"I, too," Cassandra said.

And it went on like that. Antonia would stay and sponge him off and try to get some water and some of the surgeon's powder down his throat when he was aware enough to swallow, although he never knew who she was. In his mind, he was in the tower; occasionally he talked about a woman named Surana, who Antonia assumed was the elf mage he had mentioned once.

He tried to fight her ministrations sometimes, thinking she was a demon, but she was able to calm him eventually. The surgeon came in a few times, and Cassandra spelled her long enough for Antonia to get some dinner and a quick nap, but she took the night watch.

In the middle of the second night, as she dozed in the stiff and uncomfortable chair next to his bed, he gave a great shout and sat bolt upright in bed. There was a profound expression of relief on his face as he looked around the room, and he lay back down and went instantly back to sleep. Antonia wasn't surprised to touch his skin and feel that the fever had broken.

"Thank the Maker," she said softly. Watching him sleep peacefully now was well worth the fears of the day before.

The morning found him beginning to be restless, and Antonia gathered her things and prepared to leave before he could wake to find her there.

The door below opened. She poked her head over the side of the loft to see who was coming in, and was startled to recognize Cullen's brother. He looked up and saw her and grinned. "Antonia! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"Sh!" She slid down the ladder. "Don't wake him."

"Huh. Cullen was always an early riser. Surprised he's not awake already."

"Come with me." She led him out onto the battlement, leaving the door ajar so they could hear if Cullen awoke. "There's something you should know about your brother." She explained to him about the lyrium the Chantry gave the Templars, and its effects. "It addles your mind and eventually kills you if you take it, and it can addle your mind and kill you if you don't."

"And he hasn't been taking it?"

"Not in more than a year."

"And he's still suffering like that?"

"Yes. He has intermittent fevers, he has nightmares almost every night, he's sometimes in a lot of pain, and occasionally something like this happens. This is the worst it's ever been, but our surgeon and another of our people who knows the symptoms think he can come out of it."

"Thank the Maker he has you."

Antonia shook her head. "I was just thinking how convenient it is that you came; he wouldn't want to wake and find me here."

Jared frowned. "Wait, what? What's happened since Wintersend?"

She shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"But ... the two of you ... You were—That's ... Maker."

"You sound just like him."

"That's never a good sign," Jared said, the humor automatic. He looked down at her, his brown eyes so like Cullen's. "You still love him."

Antonia nodded. "That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

"That's ... I can't talk about it. Just ... leave it alone, will you, Jared?"

Inside, there was a groan from upstairs.

"Take care of him, please," Antonia said, and she turned and hurried down the battlements.


	82. Your Sodding Pride

_Thanks for reading, all!  
_

* * *

_13 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

The very next thing Antonia did was charge straight into the barracks. Men and women scattered in front of her. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have apologized for disrupting them—aware of the effect her presence could have, she tried to minimize surprise appearances in unusual parts of the keep, just to avoid the type of scramble that was going on now.

But today she had other things on her mind. "Has anyone seen Eustace?"

"I ... I think he's in the ... west barracks," stammered a young woman who hadn't avoided her eyes fast enough.

"Good." Antonia went into the west barracks, sending people scattering in there, as well. "Eustace?" she asked the first soldier she saw. He pointed about halfway down the room. People were just getting up, and Antonia felt badly for causing such a commotion at just this time.

Eustace was scrubbing his eyes, sitting up in bed. Given the number of times she had been on the receiving end of his interruptions, she found it poetic justice that she was interrupting his morning snooze. "Get dressed and meet me outside. On the double."

"Yes, Inquisitor."

She stalked back out of the room to let the rest of the soldiers get back about their business, and paced up and down the muddy side yard while she waited for him.

At last, he came hobbling along, trying to shove his feet into his boots as he walked. "Your Worship, Inquisitor, ser."

"What were you thinking?" she snapped.

"Ser?" He appeared not to be following her train of thought, and Antonia forced herself to calm down.

"Commander Cullen. Have you seen him recently?"

"He ... he locked his doors. I thought ..." He trailed off, cringing a little.

"And you didn't think to inform anyone that there might be something wrong? You're always underfoot just when you aren't wanted, but the one time he needs you to be there you're down here ... sleeping!"

"Is—is the Commander all right?"

"I think so, now, yes," Antonia said, trying to cool down.

"I didn't know there was anything wrong." Eustace straightened a bit in all the wounded pride of an undeserved tongue-lashing. "Permission to speak freely, Inquisitor?"

"Yes."

"I thought it was to do with you. Begging your pardon, but it seemed like it just about broke him, what happened. He tried not to show it, but he was—back to the way he used to be. I thought he was ... hiding."

"I see." Antonia looked down at the ground, digging her toe into the mud. This really was all her fault—if she hadn't overreacted so badly in his office ... "He had a terrible fever, the worst he's had, and if I hadn't figured it out and knocked his door down, he might have—" She couldn't finish the sentence.

Eustace blanched. "Maker's balls, Inquisitor. I had no idea. I'd never have let that happen if I'd known it wasn't ... personal."

"So you knew we argued."

He nodded, and Antonia sighed. Everyone really did know everything around here.

"Speaking plainly, Inquisitor," Eustace said, "he's even worse off now than he was before. Then he was just ... tense. Too much work, too little sleep. Now ... It's not right. You two were good for each other and good for Skyhold and good for the Inquisition, and whatever it is that you fought over, one of you needs to swallow your sodding pride and apologize!" He was breathing hard once he got to the end, having spoken it all in one breath. "Begging your pardon, of course."

"I take it you think that someone should be me."

"The Commander's not got much but pride to cling to, really. Not after everything he's been through. Oh, yes, we all know where he came from," he said in response to her curious look. "We'd never say anything to him, but ... we admire him. He's stood up to abominations and Templars and fought by the side of the Champion of Kirkwall and tried to kick that demon lyrium and built this army up from a few men standing around in the mud. There's not a man or woman among us who wouldn't follow him wherever he said to go. Thedas has given him a raw deal, and he's owed something for it."

Antonia smiled. "That's a good speech, Eustace, and I agree with everything in it. And from here on out, you have a special assignment—watch over him. He won't take care of himself, we all know that. So it's up to those of us who care about him to do that for him, and prevent what almost happened yesterday."

"Yes, ma'am." He was clearly burning to ask more questions, but already worried that he had overstepped his bounds.

"His brother's here in Skyhold, and he's up there with the Commander now. Why don't you get some breakfast and go see what you can do to help."

Eustace bowed, backing slowly away from her.

"And Eustace?"

He stopped, cringing a little.

"I appreciate your honesty."

"Thank you, Inquisitor."

Antonia left the barracks and went into the main keep, where she found Varric just finishing breakfast. "Do you mind staying for a few minutes?" she asked him.

"No. Not at all. How's Curly?"

"Recovering, I think. The fever's broken."

"And the heart?" Varric's eyes were kind.

"I don't know. I didn't dare stay—I had orders that there was to be no drama during his recovery. And ... I didn't know how he'd react if he woke up and saw me there."

"It was that bad?"

"No, it wasn't bad at all. It was a stupid overreaction on both our parts."

"Yeah, I've heard that one before." Varric grinned.

"Hawke and Fenris?"

"Aveline and Donnic."

"Huh."

"Anything more unreasonable than Aveline in a temper is hard to find, and Donnic's easygoing until you rile him and then watch out. I bet they keep Kirkwall jumping."

"And how did they work it out?" Antonia asked.

"Most of the time, Aveline would cool down, realize how ridiculous she'd been, and go apologize."

"Hint, hint, eh?"

Varric shook his head. "If I know Skyhold, you've got enough people telling you what to do."

"Yes, but you I'm asking."

"You wouldn't believe the number of people who come to me asking for relationship advice, and here I am and my longest relationship's been with a crossbow."

"I bet that cuts down on arguments."

He chuckled. "You'd be surprised."

"So, what would you do?"

"Me? I'd sit here and write a story and let my life go by. What you're asking is what you would do, and from what I've seen, Antonia Trevelyan is not someone who lets her life go by."

"But that's one of the problems, that Antonia Trevelyan's life seems destined to be cut rather short—forming a long-lasting relationship under that restriction feels ... well, selfish."

"And what does Curly think about that?"

"He doesn't want to think about that."

"So one of you thinks about the chance of Corypheus killing you too much and the other one not at all. I see your dilemma."

"Do you?" Antonia leaned toward him. "And?"

"And you're going to throw away a guy like Cullen because you don't know what's going to happen two months from now? Or four, or ten years? For the love of Andraste, Herald, you could fall down the steps and break your neck tomorrow."

"Cheerful thought."

"Accurate thought. So if you keep thinking that because you have to fight some big bad guy you shouldn't plan for the future, then you're focusing too much on the big picture. Me, I think if you get the chance for what the two of you have, you take it. You hope for the best, you prepare for the worst, and you enjoy as much as you can along the way."

Antonia smiled. "You have the soul of a poet."

"I don't know about that, but I spin a good yarn now and then."

Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Varric."


	83. Afraid

_Thank you for reading!  
_

* * *

_13 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Cullen blinked in the light of day, trying to determine exactly what had happened. He had come back here after Antonia was injured, and ... it was all a blur since then, except for the familiar memories of the demons and a confused memory of Antonia sitting by his bed, sponging off his forehead and whispering all the things he wanted to hear her say—but she wouldn't have, because they weren't ...

He wished he hadn't awakened. At least the memories of torment were just that, memories, and not this reality where they were better off without each other.

"There you are!" An unexpected, hearty voice spoke near his ear, and Cullen turned his head.

"Jared?" His voice was a hoarse croak.

"The very same, and right on time, too, eh, little brother?"

"Right." Cullen tried to sit up. "How long have I been—" He remembered at the last minute that Jared didn't know about the lyrium.

"Delirious with fever? They tell me a few days now. That fellow Blackwall broke your door down and they found you half out of your head."

"Yes. That ... happens sometimes."

"So I'm told, it happens when you don't stop to take care of yourself and take the doctor's powders."

"You know, then." It wasn't a question.

"The Inquisitor told me."

"Sh-she was here?" His heart leaped wildly in his chest. If she was here, then maybe his memory of the things she had said to him was true.

"A little while, at least. Not sure how long." Jared looked guilty, and Cullen could tell that among the other things she had apparently told Jared, she had explained that they weren't ... anything, any longer.

"Can I get up?" he asked.

"Surgeon says if you want to, more power to you, but no work today. Maybe a little tomorrow. Cassandra says if you do that again, you won't need to step down because she'll kill you. Nice girl, that."

Cullen could imagine Cassandra's reaction to being called a nice girl, and it brought the first smile to his face that had been there in days. Weeks, it felt like.

"That's better. You want me to bring you some food up, or you want to go down to the main hall?"

Leaving the office meant the chance of running into Antonia, and no matter how much he wanted to see her—just to look at her, to make sure she was all right, to feed his hunger for her in whatever way he could—he wasn't ready for that right now. "Why don't you bring some up, if you wouldn't mind."

While Jared was gone, he got out of bed, feeling his legs a bit shaky underneath him, and managed to get at least partially dressed. He was sitting behind his desk when Jared came back in carrying a tray piled high with food.

"I can't eat that much," Cullen protested.

"Then I'll eat some. The cooks were insistent when they heard it was for you. You command some fanatical loyalty from your people, brother. Never would've thought it of you when you were four years old and running around without any pants." He grinned.

"Yes, please let's bring that up as often as possible," Cullen said, but he returned his brother's smile. It was good to have Jared here.

Or at least, he thought so until he had a mouthful of food and Jared casually remarked, "So, if you're done with Antonia, do you mind if I—?"

Cullen nearly choked. "What?" he asked when he could speak again, certain he must have misheard his brother.

"Just asking. She wasn't very forthcoming, and I wanted to see if you had broken up because of a real problem or because you're a horse's arse."

"And your conclusion?"

Jared reached out and smacked him on the back of the head, leaving no doubt as to his opinion.

"Ow. I didn't miss that."

"I did." Jared grinned widely, then sobered, his eyes steady on Cullen's face. "You love her."

"Of course."

"Then what in the Void, man? A woman like that looked at me the way she looked at you and I wouldn't let her go unless a dragon pried her out of my arms."

"A not inaccurate statement of affairs." Cullen looked down at his plate, his appetite gone. He very much didn't want to talk about this ... but he did, too, and who better than his big brother to talk to?

"Come again?"

"The mark on her hand means that eventually she'll have to face a thousand-year-old darkspawn and his pet ... well, we think it's an Archdemon."

Jared blinked, sitting back. "Do you know any normal people?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"So—she's going to have to fight this old guy and his dragon. And that means, what?"

"She's very likely to die in the process." Cullen looked up to find his brother's eyes on him, thoughtfully.

"I've never thought of you as someone who was afraid to face reality. Thought of you, in fact, as someone who'd seen too much of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means—that fever nearly took you out, little brother. And me, too, if Mia had found out I got here too late to save you." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Seriously—I've seen a lot of people die. Ostagar, and the Blight, and since. Every one of them left behind people who loved them, things they hadn't finished. There's nothing tidy about life, or love, Cullen, nothing you can count on, except what you have right in front of you, right now."

"You don't understand."

"Maybe I understand better than you think." Jared looked down at his hands, then away. "And I envy you with everything in me. Don't you see how rare it is to care about someone the way you do her? And you're letting it go because there's a chance you won't get to keep it? I have half a mind to hit you again."

Cullen studied the plate in front of him. Jared made him feel about ten again, listening to one of his big brother's lectures, hanging on every word. But ... he couldn't forget how quickly one comment had escalated into this—this horrible coldness between them. "And the next time we have an argument and she walks out?" he asked softly.

"You get past it, man." At Cullen's pained shake of the head in negation, he continued, "You know, I'm an old bachelor, so I spend my mealtimes at Mia and John's, or Mother and Father's, or Ariel and Petrus's. You have any idea how many arguments I've witnessed? People throw things, they walk out of the room or the house, they call each other names ... and the next day, or later in the day, they make up, or talk it through, or get over it. It's not how you argue that makes the difference, Cullen, it's how you apologize."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. It sounded good, but ...

"What is it?" Jared asked.

He hesitated. Could he admit this, even to his brother? To himself? But it was the truth, and it was time he told someone. "I'm afraid, Jared. Of what happens if she—dies, or if she wakes up one day and just doesn't—doesn't care any longer. Of what I would do without her. In some ways, it's easier knowing I've already lost her, because then nothing can take her away again." He hated hearing himself say it; he'd never been a coward before, never knuckled under to his fears, but this was ...

"Little brother," Jared said softly, "you borrow a lot of trouble."


	84. Promises

_Thank you for reading! I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much I loved writing it._

* * *

_17 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Within a few more days, Cullen was up and about again, more or less himself ... or so Antonia had heard. She hadn't seen him, and she wondered if that was on purpose. She hadn't sought him out, either, trying to decide what she would say to him when she did. Much as she wanted to set things right between them, she couldn't forget that icy, distant look in his eyes; she was afraid to see that again. The War Room meetings had been suspended while Cullen recovered. Neither Leliana nor Josephine had suggested resuming them, and Antonia wasn't about to make the suggestion herself, not without knowing where she and Cullen stood.

And then she found herself coming down the back stairs from upper courtyard to lower, the little-used set in the shadow of the main stairs of the keep, and met Cullen coming up them. They both stopped for a moment. Antonia looked at his face for any sign that there might be a softening there, but she saw nothing.

"Good morning, Commander."

"Inquisitor."

"I trust you have recovered from your ... indisposition?"

"I have. Thank you for your concern." His jaw tensed. "I understand that I owe you my gratitude for ... ensuring that the situation did not worsen."

"Oh. No, that was Blackwall. He broke the door down." She gestured to her ribs. "I wouldn't have been able to."

"Are your injuries still troubling you?" He might have been asking about a distant relative.

"Not very much, no. I'm to stay in Skyhold for a few more days before I think about going into the field again, but otherwise I'm ... tolerable."

"That is good news."

If he would only bend, just a little, she could say what she needed to say. But she was terrified to speak to this ... mountain in front of her, afraid that her words would freeze on the rocky slopes. "How is your brother settling in?"

"Very well. Thank you for asking."

She bit her lip, unable to move or speak.

"Will there be anything ... else, Inquisitor?"

Antonia was so caught up in how much she hated that word, "Inquisitor", said in that polite, stiffly formal tone, where once it had been a caress, that she almost missed the softening she had been looking for in the tiny pause, the faint breath before the "else", the very small quiver in his voice that might have been hope.

He moved past her then, when she didn't speak, and she knew if she let him go now it would be a long time before she had the chance again.

"Cullen, wait!"

He stopped, standing still, but he didn't turn to look at her. Which might be better, she thought, trying to get the words out. At least she didn't have to be watching his face for a reaction to every word.

She kept stumbling over her tongue, but at this point, eloquence didn't matter nearly as much as getting through everything she needed to tell him. "I wanted to say ... that I am so sorry for how I acted. Overreacted, really—you were right, what you said, about my being too impetuous, and I should have ... listened, but ... I feel so—so young, so inexperienced, so inadequate to this role. Everyone in Skyhold, practically, is older than I am, and I ... try to do my best but I don't really know what I'm doing, and to have you, of all people, think I'm inadequate ..." Perhaps she imagined it, but there seemed to be the smallest hitch of his shoulders there. Otherwise, he might as well not have been listening at all. "I ... didn't handle it well, which you know, and then ... afterward ... well, I can be stubborn."

"Really." His voice was toneless; she had no idea how he meant it. But at least it was some response.

Her voice was wavering as she went on, but she wouldn't cry. Not now. She pushed through the threatened tears, forcing herself to keep talking. "And then ... I started to think that ... maybe we were—were distracting each other too much, worrying about each other too much, and that it might be better for, for both of us, if we weren't ... together." Antonia gave a small, watery laugh. "But look what happened—I got my ribs kicked in by a dragon, and you—" She didn't finish that sentence. "And ... I hadn't considered—how much I miss you, and how distracting that is." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She couldn't beg this stone form in front of her to take her back, or tell it how much she loved him—the words just wouldn't come.

Cullen was rubbing the back of his neck, which Antonia took as a good sign, but he didn't respond for such a long time that she thought she had failed utterly.

At last, he said, "I thought that, too, that it was better for us both not to be—well, not to be. And ... there was a certain ... relief." He was speaking so carefully he might have been talking about the weather.

"Relief?" she whispered, painfully.

"You are—" He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It was always too much to ask. And once it was ... over, I didn't have to dread the end or wonder how it would come."

"But that's not—I never thought it was too much," she cried. "This was—it was about me, not you."

"It ended up in the same place, no matter who or what it was about."

"Are—are you saying you don't want—want to be—" She couldn't finish it, not without crying.

There was no response, no answer to her question.

"Cullen?" Her voice quivered; she couldn't have stopped it from doing so, and the word sounded like a plea, even to her ears, but the only change in his posture was an increase in the tension in him.

Antonia wanted to walk away. What did he want from her, blood? She was damned if she was going to beg—well, no, she wasn't, either. She remembered Eustace telling her to let go of her sodding pride. She had agreed with him then; she agreed with him now. She took a step toward Cullen. "Please don't do this."

"How would I know that the next time wouldn't end up the same way?" he asked. His voice cracked on the last few words, and there was nothing she wanted more than to wrap herself around him and never let go.

"Don't you think I can learn from my mistakes, that I can change? Can't you give me a second chance?"

From his lack of response, the drop of his head, the slump of his shoulders beneath that ridiculous fur collar, it appeared the answer was no.

"Please, Cullen," she said again, "don't do this to us."

He didn't move.

Antonia bit her lip against the tears, and against the hot, prideful words that wanted to rise to her lips. She had humbled herself this far, she could go another step. "I love you, Cullen," she said in a very small voice. "If—if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

She turned and practically ran to the back entrance of the keep, glad to have explored the warren of storage rooms and empty chambers in the basement level thoroughly enough that she knew how to get back to her quarters without seeing too many people. And there she stayed, huddled in the middle of her bed weeping, until she could get herself under control.

She was just thinking about leaving the room and hunting up some food, hoping it was late enough that everyone would have finished dinner, when far below her she heard the door close. She was on her feet before she knew it, holding her breath, her heart thumping so loudly she could barely hear the footsteps of the person coming around the platform to her stairs. But she knew the tread on the steps as well as she knew her own heartbeat, and she waited until he stopped at the top.

He was holding a bouquet, rosemary and embrium, that he must have stolen from the gardens, and he held it out to her. There was a hesitance in his face, as if he wasn't certain what her reaction would be. As she took the flowers, she looked up into his eyes and the icy, flinty stone was gone, replaced by a look of such longing that it was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms right there.

But she took the bouquet and carried it to the desk and stood there, waiting. That he had something to say was evident, and she had had her say earlier in the day, so she would let him have his now.

"I have ... spent a lot of my life living in fear," he began, looking down at his hands. "Afraid that other people hid demons behind their eyes, or of their betrayal, afraid that my own mind plays tricks on me, afraid that after what I've done I don't deserve—much. Or anything. And ... afraid when something good is given to me, what the price will be. What will happen when it is eventually taken away, as everything good always seems to be."

"Which is it now?" she asked. "Me, yourself, or the world?"

"All three. I ... wasn't exaggerating before when I said there was a relief in having it be over, so that I no longer had to fear it ending. And I won't lie to you, it—it hurt me deeply that one criticism escalated so quickly into this ... nightmare. It made me doubt—" He made a gesture that included her, and himself, and all the space between them. "It made me doubt," he said again, simply. "I am, at heart, most afraid of all of how much I love you, how vulnerable that makes me to you, of leaving myself open to that level of hurt again, and again."

There was no question how much it had cost him to make that confession to her, and quick, hot tears sprang to Antonia's eyes thinking of how fragile and precious a burden it was to hold someone's heart in your hands that way, and how easy to damage it. "Cullen ... I'm sorry."

He held up a hand, and she let him continue. "I have to apologize for the way I said what I did. For you to imagine that I thought you were inadequate, in any way ..." He shook his head. "In the first place, _no one_ thinks of you that way, except for you. No one. And I—admire you for your courage and your determination. It is very difficult for me to think of you as anything other than perfect, so perhaps I overreacted myself in finding something that was ... less than that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Much as I hate to admit it, I am still afraid—of you, of myself, of my nightmares, of the future, take your pick. But as it turns out, for pain and torment, lyrium withdrawal has nothing on Antonia withdrawal." He gave her a small smile, the first she had seen on his face for entirely too long, and she took the joke for the peace offering it was. "I love you too much to let fear keep us apart any longer. Can you forgive me?"

In three steps, she was across the room, leaping into his arms, her own arms and legs wrapped around him as though he might get away otherwise. As he held her they pressed frantic kisses on each other's faces, murmuring words of love and promises and apologies until their mouths met and they said everything they had to say that way.

He carried her to the bed, letting her down next to it, both of them shedding clothes as rapidly as they could. And then slowly he lowered her on top of the blankets, his hands caressing the sides of her face as he settled on her, his weight so delicious after such a long time. "I love you," he whispered. "I can't do without you. I thought I could, but ..."

"You won't have to, not ever again. I promise," she whispered back, not even thinking about the longer term repercussions of such a promise. She drew his head down to hers for another long kiss.

After the anguish and heartache of the last week, she didn't need preparation; just his kisses, the warmth of his body against hers, were enough. She spread her legs, her hand finding him. "Please, Cullen, I need you." He was ready, too, and they both moaned at the first contact. Cullen's head pressed heavily against her shoulder, her hands gently threading through his hair.

They moved together slowly, almost more aroused by his arms tight around her, her soft words of love and reassurance in his ear.

Eventually she could tell by the restlessness of his movements, by the change in his breathing, that he was nearing his peak. "Love you," he said again and again, desperately, his words slurred almost beyond recognition by the depth of his need.

Antonia clung to him, so close. "I love you, my darling. Always." And then she couldn't speak at all. His big body was trembling against hers, shuddering with his pleasure, and she was following, her legs tightening around his waist, holding him right there, never wanting to let him go.

As the pleasure ebbed, Cullen kissed her eyelids and her cheeks and her forehead. "I'm so sorry; I should never have let things get that far that day."

"It shouldn't always be you dragging us back off the cliff's edge," she said. "I can learn to argue without letting things escalate like that."

He smiled. "See, this is where having siblings really helps."

"Apparently." Cullen started to move away, and she held on to him. "Don't leave. Please."

"I won't, I promise. I am yours, as long as you want me."

"Always?"

"At least."

Eventually, hampered by Antonia's unwillingness to let go even for a moment, they managed to maneuver under the covers, where they made up for some more lost time before falling asleep in each other's arms, still exchanging promises.


	85. Pants

_Happy reading, all - thank you for the enthusiastic response to the last chapter and the whole arc!_

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_18 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Antonia woke the next morning to find her head tucked into the hollow of Cullen's throat, just where it should be. She lay there for a few moments, just enjoying the feeling of him in her arms.

"Are you real?" he asked quietly. "Or just another dream?"

For answer she bit him in the neck, then kissed the spot.

Cullen moaned softly. "You are real." He shifted so he could look at her. "I thought so. My dreams are never this good."

"I'm sorry."

He ran his hand over her short hair, which she was certain must be sticking up all over. "No more apologizing. Let's just ... figure out how to make sure that never happens again."

"You don't think remembering how miserable that was will do the trick?"

"Was it? Miserable?"

"Very much so. Wasn't it for you?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Or is this one of those 'you didn't miss me as much as I missed you' conversations?"

"No." But he looked rather abashed, for all that. He pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, kissing her neck, before pulling away and sitting up. "I just ... don't think I can accurately describe to you the whirlwind this last year and a half have been for me. Not just the Inquisition, which has given me a greater purpose than I ever had before, but you—"

Antonia sat up, too, drawing up her knees under the covers and resting her arms on them. She leaned her head against her folded arms and looked at him.

"All of this is ... something I never imagined was for me. As a Templar, I never expected to ... fall in love. I might have wanted to, but I never expected it. And there you were, so ... incredibly lovely and bright and brave and determined, and you wouldn't take no for an answer." He smiled at her. "Not that I wanted to say no."

"Good. That's a relief."

"So here I am suddenly, in the middle of this situation that is so absolutely ... transformative, and consuming, and—well, still so much more amazing than I could have imagined, with someone I could never have dreamed of ... It's going to take some getting used to."

"As long as you spend your time getting used to it without also implying that somehow this is all less transformative, and consuming, and amazing for me than it is for you."

Cullen chuckled. "I suppose that's fair enough. It just ... it's hard for me to imagine that it could be, really."

"That's because you don't give yourself nearly the credit you deserve."

"Well, I'm glad that's your opinion, anyway."

Antonia gave a deep sigh. "Cullen, I don't think you realize how wearing it is to know that you are constantly expecting me to come to my senses, or whatever it is you think I'm going to do. If you don't trust me when I say I'm not going anywhere, how can I trust you?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way before."

"Think of it that way now, will you, please?" She turned, pushing him back on the pillows and leaning on his chest. "Because I don't want to be anywhere other than right here."

"In bed?" He smiled.

"Preferably." Antonia lowered her head to kiss him, moving her mouth down the side of his neck.

"We both have things we should be doing right now, I imagine," Cullen said, but his arms were tightening around her, holding her to him, and his head tilting to let her teeth and tongue seek out all the spots she knew he liked.

"Oh, we're very busy," she agreed, mouth and hands exploring now, farther and farther down. "Very powerful and very busy. Head of the Inquisition and all that. Hm, you like that, do you?" she asked as her hand slid under the covers, and he gasped, arching his back into her touch.

"You are ... a terrible, wicked woman."

"Still have so many other places to go?"

"No! No, none at all."

"Good."

And for a long time after that neither of them had much to say.

They unapologetically sent word down by Roya, when she came up, that neither of them was available for the day. Perhaps a couple of weeks apart wasn't much, when considered in the grand scheme of things, but both of them had feared it was a harbinger of a more permanent separation, and it felt as though they were brand new again.

So brand new, in fact, that they didn't manage to get dressed all day. Until dinner time, when a tray was brought up, and they threw on enough to be decent.

Roya put the tray down on Antonia's table, looking at them rather archly, for her, which Antonia took to mean approval of the return to normalcy. "When do you want me to bring the chairs up, my lady?"

"Chairs?"

"Apparently you've been rather distracted—tonight is your diamondback game with the companions. Had you forgotten?"

"Oh. Yes, I had." Antonia glanced at Cullen. "You'll stay for diamondback, won't you?'

"After what happened last time?"

She widened her eyes just a little as she looked at him in her best imitation of the puppies, and Cullen sighed.

"It's really not possible to say no to you, is it? Especially not just now. Very well, I'll stay for diamondback."

"Good. Roya, would you mind checking in with Lady Montilyet and asking her if she'd like to join us this time, and then can you find Jared Rutherford and ask him if he would like to come up."

"Are you sure?" Cullen asked.

"He might as well get a full taste of the crew at their finest," Antonia said. She had no doubt that Cullen's brother would fit right in. She glanced at the dog bed in the corner of the room. "Can you also inform the kennels that we'll be coming to pick up the puppies in the morning, and we'll be keeping them with us from now on?" They were big already, and they both were agitated by the constant back and forth to the kennels. From what she had read, a mabari was a life companion, to be at the imprinted person's side as much as possible, and they would be good reminders for herself and Cullen both of the promises they had made each other—and those they had made to the dogs, too.

Roya smiled at both of them, an undeniably motherly smile, and disappeared, promising to accomplish all those tasks, as well as sending up chairs and snacks closer to game time.

"You had to invite Josephine?" Cullen groused. "Can you guarantee that I won't end up losing my pants?"

"Not to Josephine," Antonia said suggestively, and his ears turned red. She found it rather adorable that after an entire day spent naked in and out of bed, he was still blushing at the idea that she wanted him naked some more. She straddled his lap, putting her arms around his neck. "Besides which, you're mine now, and so are all of your clothes, and you can't bet what doesn't belong to you."

"An excellent point," he murmured. His hands were cupping her jaw, the fingers moving lightly over her ears and through the ends of her hair. He tilted her head back, his mouth hungry at her throat, and she could feel him lengthening and hardening beneath her. "Maker," Cullen whispered in her ear, "how is it possible that I want you again, already? I can't get enough of you."

"I approve," she gasped, and that was how it happened that when the chairs started arriving they were both scrambling to find fallen pieces of clothing while the first of the servants was already on the stairs.

As the table was being set up, Antonia could see Cullen getting more and more fidgety, and eventually she dragged him out onto the balcony. "What is it?"

"It's just so ... both of us here, when everyone arrives, and there will no doubt be questions ..."

"And allusions, and digs, and all sorts of comments about our private life that will make you uncomfortable." She took his hand. "Do you know what Dorian told me?"

He eyed her cautiously. "Do I want to?"

Antonia nodded. "He said the rest of Skyhold watches us to see how things are. That our ... being together made other people feel as though it was all right to be together, gave them hope. I told him that was too much to lay on me, but I'm thinking maybe it isn't—maybe it's a part of the burden we took on when we agreed to these roles. If we were all like Leliana, all business, everything closed away, maybe the rest of the Inquisition would be like that, too. But here we are, you and I, and so the Inquisition knows there's room for love and family, even in the darkest times."

"When you put it that way, we sound positively inspirational."

"We do, don't we? But I think ... down there they look up here and they see a leader, they take their cues from me, they count on me to let them know when to fight and when to embrace the joy in life. They don't know that I'm fearful and sure that I'm inadequate and always doing the wrong thing, unless I show them. As long as I act like I know what I'm doing, they'll follow me anyway." She ran a hand through her hair. "That sounds awfully grown-up, doesn't it? It's basically what Hawke told me; maybe now I finally believe it."

"It sounds like someone who is anything but inadequate," he said, taking both her hands in his and looking her in the eyes.

"Maybe."

"Ah, there they are," said Dorian loudly, appearing in the doorway. "Look, Bull. Billing and cooing today where yesterday all was sadness and frowns."

"Oh, that's sweet. And lucky, too, since now I don't have to drop-kick the Commander off the battlements."

Cullen winced, and the Iron Bull, appearing on the balcony, clapped him heartily on the back. "Just messin' with you. Mostly."

From inside, Varric called out, "Ruffles is here! Everybody hold on to your pants."

Antonia stifled a giggle, wondering if there was a shade of red Cullen wasn't going to turn over the course of the night.

Blackwall appeared in the doorway. "Just so everyone knows, the Ambassador's already got the only pair of pants she's going to need for the night, so the rest of you, do try to remain clothed."

"I will be the judge of that, Thom, thank you," Josephine said, but her eyes twinkled.

The last two players came up together, Cole having begged off for the night. Jared was telling Cassandra about the battle when his leg had been wounded, exactly the type of story to gain and hold her interest. Antonia cast a swift glance at Varric, wondering how he would take that, but he was already sitting down and shuffling the cards.

Everyone else took their places. "Now, everyone knows how to play diamondback?" Antonia asked, glancing at Jared and at Josephine.

"Of course."

"My dear Inquisitor, you need to ask?" Josephine's eyes twinkled, and everyone at the table groaned.

"Boss, remember the days when I used to take everyone's money? Those were good days."

"For you," Dorian grumbled.

"Anytime you want your winnings back, I've got plenty of ideas." The Qunari grinned at the mage.

"You are insatiable."

Antonia glanced at Cullen, remembering the day and night that had just passed. His ears were the telltale red that said he was thinking of that, too.

Varric dealt the cards and everyone was quiet for a moment looking at theirs. As play went on, Josephine looked at Cullen's brother. "How are you finding Skyhold, Jared?"

He placed a card, grinning at her. "Ask me again at the end of the night; my answer may change depending on how much of your coin I've gone home with, my lady."

"As long as it's only her coin," Blackwall growled into the general laughter that followed Jared's remark.

"Perhaps some of these cheaters could be persuaded to part with their own money more readily if you had some good stories to tell," Antonia suggested. She winked at Cullen, leaving little doubt as to what kind of stories she was fishing for.

"Two could play at that game," Cullen suggested mildly. "I believe I know a few stories about Jared that he's not eager for me to share." He grinned. "And I believe this hand is mine." He shot a triumphant glance across the table at Josephine.

"Varric," the Iron Bull said grimly, "you and I are going to have a talk about this."

"I could say I did that on purpose," Varric said.

"Did you?"

"If you have to ask, I'm not telling."

"Are they always like this?" Jared asked Cassandra, who happened to be sitting next to him.

"Always," she confirmed. She was looking at Varric while Blackwall shuffled and prepared to deal the next hand. "Except that usually they are the only ones who win."

Several more rounds went by in the same vein. Antonia was pleased to see that Cullen was far more relaxed this time than he had been while playing Wicked Grace. Whether that was to do with Jared being here, with their fight being past, or with still having all his clothes, she was glad to see it. This, sitting here with all of them, felt as close to family as she had felt since she was a little girl playing with her nieces and nephews—several of them not far from her own age—at Wintersend.

"So, Herald," Varric said, as if he had read her thoughts, "how much longer are we having these family visits for? I nearly tripped over some very stony-faced ladies here visiting Threnn this morning, just standing there and staring at my desk."

"Celebrity lying heavy on your shoulders, Varric?" Dorian asked.

"I just hate it when people try to peek at the ending."

Antonia ignored the banter in favor of answering Varric's original question. "I think Flissa's about halfway through the roster of people. It takes a lot of them to keep Skyhold running, and I'm glad they're all getting a chance to show off their home to their families." She looked around the table. Josephine and Cullen's families had visited; Hawke had come for Varric. Dorian and Cassandra had no interest in having their families visit Skyhold; the Iron Bull had been declared Tal-Vashoth, and Qunari had none of what most would consider a family anyway; and Blackwall spoke very little of his past, but she assumed he had cut ties with any loved ones when he took Blackwall's name and identity. For that matter, neither Cole, Sera, nor Solas had any particular ties that she knew of, either. Only Vivienne had anything you could call a family, and she had taken great pride in showing Duke Bastien's relations around Skyhold. "Of course, I have this great idea, and here I can't even— If there's anything I can ever do for any of you," she said softly, "you know you have only to ask."

"Boss. None of us can count high enough to add up what you do for us," the Iron Bull said. "What we want to know is what we can do for you … except the rest of us are pretty much leaving that up to Cullen, these days." No one, least of all Cullen, who had just taken a long swallow of cider, had expected the change in tone, and Cullen choked, coughing, in the general laughter.

"Ah, I believe there is one further thing we could ask for," Josephine said.

Antonia raised her eyebrows, not sure she was going to like whatever her Ambassador had in mind. Cullen put his tankard firmly back on the table.

"No more injuries, illnesses, and disagreements! The Inquisition needs you both, and it is better off when you are together, and at the top of your game."

"Hear, hear," Cassandra said.

"Allow me to propose a toast." Dorian's eyes twinkled at Antonia. "To Antonia and Cullen—may they keep their swords sharp, their minds rested, and their tongues too busy to argue."

Antonia blushed, and she could see Cullen was rather red, as well. "Thank you, Dorian. Let's talk sometime about how long it took me to talk you into using your tongue to tend your own business."

"Oh, have I never thanked you for that, boss?" The Iron Bull winked at her, to the groans of the rest of the company.

Cullen looked across the table at his brother. "I don't know these people, in case you're wondering. They're actors hired to play the Inquisition, and as of tomorrow, I think half of them are fired."

"The boring half." Varric winked.

Jared grinned. "Don't worry about me, little brother. I think I'll fit in just fine here. You think any of these folks want to hear about the time you lost your pants in the Chantry?"

As it turned out, everyone did, and then Cullen had to tell a story to retaliate, and the night passed in more stories and laughter.

Later, with everyone gone, Antonia and Cullen snuggled under the covers together, and she sighed in contentment.

"Happy?"

"Very."

"Good." He nuzzled her hair. "So am I. More than I ever imagined possible."


	86. For the Inquisitor

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

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_20 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

"You have everything you'll need?" Cullen asked. He double-checked the straps and buckles on her armor.

"I've done this before, you know." Antonia caught his hands in hers, forcing him to stop fussing. "You've seen me off before, without half this much bother."

"I know. It just feels … different now. Doesn't it?" He looked at her, genuinely curious as to whether she felt the same sort of newness he did after having resolved their argument. It was as though a commitment had been made, or renewed, that he wasn't aware of having spoken.

"Yes, it does," Antonia admitted, stroking the side of his face with one gloved hand. She stripped the glove off and pressed the back of her fingers against his forehead. "And you've got plenty of powders if the fever comes back?"

"I do. I'm fine, really."

"You would say that whether you were or not," she pointed out, and he couldn't argue with that. "Jared's going to be keeping an eye on you for me—and for Mia. So you can decide which of us you're most scared of." She grinned.

Cullen grumbled, "You'd think I wasn't a grown man, perfectly capable—"

"Perfectly capable of letting himself lose consciousness because he hadn't taken medicine properly? Yes, you would think. Just like you'd think I was the Inquisitor, perfectly capable of making sure my buckles are properly fastened."

They frowned at each other for a moment, then both laughed. Cullen leaned his forehead against hers. "No dragons this time, right? Or giants?"

"None that I know of. We'll be back in a week or so, and then we can start making preparations for the Arbor Wilds and Samson and Corypheus."

"And then, Maker willing, maybe this will all be over." Cullen closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

With a last kiss, she hurried down the stairs, Phoenix at her heels. Cullen followed more slowly with Lucky. They watched from the keep stairs as Antonia's expedition pulled out, then they headed for Cullen's office. Work kept him busy until well on into the afternoon, when Jared appeared at the office door.

"They told me you didn't bother with lunch, but I didn't believe them."

"Surely you're busy, as well?" Cullen asked. He had delegated to Jared most of the tasks involving supplies and upkeep of Skyhold itself so that he could concentrate more fully on the needs of the army.

"Oh, yes, but there's always time for lunch." Jared grinned. "Friendly folk, these Skyholders. So interested in stories about their Commander, too."

"Maker." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Jared …"

"Cullen …"

"Just … try not to embarrass me too badly, will you?"

"If you say so." Jared produced some forms and papers. "I really came up because I wanted to go over some of these, make sure I'm getting things right."

"Of course." And they worked together for a while. Jared had grasped the situation fairly quickly and had some good ideas of his own. Cullen was surprised at how good it felt to have his brother here.

Once Jared was gone and most of the day's work was complete, Cullen felt free to start on a more personal project that he had been considering for some time. Now, with his relationship with Antonia on what felt like new, firmer footing, he didn't want to put it off any longer.

He drew out a piece of paper and began to make sketches of rings, smiling as he did so, imagining putting one of them on her finger. As he considered what would be most beautiful, most meaningful, it occurred to him that he wasn't entirely certain what nobility wore. Antonia was a noble, she would surely have traditions. His own mother wore a simple band of relatively inexpensive obsidian, worn thin and dull over time; Hawke wore gold, he had seen, just one ring. He remembered the ladies at the Winter Palace, all their hands so heavily bejeweled that he could not have said which were married and which single.

Momentarily stymied, he folded up the paper, tucking it into his pocket. He knew so few married people, it occurred to him. Perhaps times of war didn't suit themselves to such commitment, and it seemed he had been living in a time of war for the majority of his adult life. Perhaps he could ask Cassandra or Vivienne or Josephine what the nobility wore, but to do that would be to talk to them about his intentions, and he very much didn't want to have that conversation.

Calling to Lucky, he took to the battlements, strolling along in the fading daylight, thinking of Antonia. She would be most of the way down the mountain now, ready to head into Orlais on her way to the far-off Forbidden Oasis. He wondered what her family would say if they knew what she was doing. The fact that none of them had written, or come to visit, and that Antonia seemed so completely unbothered by that, intrigued him. Not writing to his own family had been a specific choice, a way of hiding from them the truth of the dangers he lived with … never because he didn't care to hear from them. Mia in particular had been the rock he had anchored himself to, bringing him back to who he was over and over again.

And of course, that was the answer to his dilemma. What the nobility did had as little to do with Antonia's choices as it did his own—she was Lady Trevelyan in name only; she had chosen to be Inquisitor Trevelyan, and as such, made her own rules. So could he.

He hurried down the stairs from the battlements and into the keep itself, heading for the door to the Undercroft at the far end.

As he came toward the door, Morrigan came out of it. She stopped in the doorway and looked up at him. "Commander."

"Lady Morrigan."

"I am pleased to see you recovered from your … attack. The lyrium is a difficult mistress to give up, is she not?"

"I would not have put it quite that way," he said stiffly.

"No, perhaps not. 'Tis surprising to me, after your words in the tower, to find you so comfortable around so many unleashed mages. And to understand that you are attempting to slip the Chantry's leash yourself … I am impressed."

Cullen winced. "That was a long time ago; I was a different man."

"As long as you do not forget who you have become."

"Is that a threat, Morrigan?"

She laughed. "As if I would need to threaten. Besides, you and this Inquisition are performing admirably thus far, and proving quite entertaining in the process." She looked at him speculatively. "If you were to find a moment, I believe my son would like to play chess with you. He has been playing with the Tevinter mage, but could use an opponent who takes the game more seriously."

"I will see what I can do," Cullen said.

"And here I am holding you up. Commander." Morrigan nodded at him, letting him pass.

"Lady Morrigan." He felt vaguely disquieted by the conversation all the way into the Undercroft. It was impossible to imagine what Morrigan thought about anything, really, or what her plans were, and he had enough to consider without adding her to the list, so he put his disquiet aside.

Dagna was alone downstairs—Harritt was with Threnn and her relatives elsewhere in the keep. The little dwarf looked up from something she was working on as Cullen came in, smiling and bouncing up and down on her toes. "Commander! What can I do for you?"

"Well, I have a project in mind, and—" He got no farther before Dagna broke in, her smile stretching even wider.

"Oh! You're having a ring made for the Inquisitor, aren't you? I wondered when you would come by, and I made some drawings …"

"Actually, so did I," Cullen said when she stopped for breath. He drew out the sheet of paper with his ideas on it, handing it to Dagna.

She frowned over it, tilting her head from one side to another. "Commander, these are all wrong. I'm sorry, but I'll tell you why. No stones, for one—they'll catch on her gloves. You want smooth metal, and much, much thinner than this or she won't be able to fit the wedding ring next to it without them being too bulky. Here—" She handed him her own sheet of sketches.

"How long have you been working on these?"

"Oh, a month or so. I was sure you'd make your way down here eventually, and the Inquisitor deserves the best." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and guileless. "May I say, ser, nice to see you in such a better frame of mind. I remember you from the tower, and … well, those were dark days."

Cullen's time at the tower had only overlapped Dagna's by a few weeks—by the time she had arrived for her studies, his transfer to Kirkwall was nearly completed—and he remembered little of that time. But he imagined he hadn't been particularly kind to the dwarf, if he had noticed her at all. "Dark days indeed. I apologize if I ever—"

"No, no, not me. But the mages breathed a sigh of relief when you were gone. I was sorry to hear about what happened in Kirkwall."

"Thank you." He gestured at her design. "This is very nice."

"Did you notice the runes? I want to put on a healing rune, and one for general protection, and maybe a few more, depending on what I can fit."

"That's an excellent idea. I didn't know you could fit a rune on something so small."

"It'll be tricky, but tricky is my middle name." She grinned. "Now, let's talk details." They put their heads together, discussing materials and edging and rune placement until they were both happy with the end result. "I can have it for you in a week."

"So soon? I wouldn't want you to neglect your other work."

"Please, Commander!" Dagna straightened her shoulders, her dignity and professional commitment clearly wounded. "Trust me. I won't be neglecting anything—but the Inquisitor and anything she needs comes first."

"Yes. Yes, she does. Thank you, Dagna."

Cullen left the Undercroft with a smile on his face. Now all he had to do was convince Antonia to say yes without waiting to defeat Corypheus first, which would be the hardest task of all.


	87. No Better Counsel

_500 reviews! Thank you all so much! It's been such fun writing this story and sharing it with all of you. Special thanks today to those of you who review anonymously or have PMs turned off so I can't thank you personally._

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_23 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

The discussion of how best to approach attacking Corypheus and Samson in the Arbor Wilds had already gone on for some time, and Antonia saw no end in sight. The truth was, none of her advisors seemed to think the Inquisition was truly ready, and they were all grasping at any piece of information that might help.

Leliana paced back and forth in front of the windows. "With an eluvian, Corypheus could cross into the Fade in the flesh?" she asked, frowning.

"Indeed. The Inquisitor can attest that these artifacts still work, if one knows how to use them," said Morrigan.

Cullen asked, "What happens when Corypheus enters the Fade?"

Morrigan met his eyes squarely. "He will gain his heart's desire, and take the power of a god." A chill worked its way down the room, and Morrigan seemed pleased with her effect as she turned to Antonia, and in her more usual slightly irritated tone added, "Or—and this is more likely—the lunatic will unleash forces that tear the world apart."

Antonia shivered, remembering the nightmare future she had visited. "In Redcliffe, I saw the future Corypheus built. We can't let that happen."

"'Twas always so, was it not?" Morrigan asked. "The madman would bury us all."

"Pardon me," Josephine said. "But does this mean everything's lost unless we get to the eluvian before him?"

Silence followed her question, everyone looking at each other and then away.

"Corypheus has a head start, no matter how quickly our army moves," Cullen said, the admission clearly painful for him. He had a great deal of faith in the army, and hated to think of it having limitations.

"We should gather our allies before we march," Josephine suggested.

Leliana frowned. "Can we wait for them? We should send our spies ahead to the Arbor Wilds."

"Without support from the soldiers? You'd lose half of them!" Cullen said.

"Then what _should_ we do?" Josephine asked testily.

"You overcome it," Antonia snapped. While she had great respect for each of her advisors individually, she found when all three of them had to put their heads together and make a single decision, the end result was usually that they had an argument, she had a headache, and the Inquisition had as many questions as it had started out with. Over time, fortunately, she had learned that when she spoke up, they tended to listen, and had become more comfortable doing so. "All three of you together." She closed her eyes, trying to see the problem as though it was on a chess board. "Josephine, have our allies send scouts into the Wilds. Leliana, your fastest agents will join them. Together, we'll have enough spies to slow down Corypheus's army until Cullen's soldiers arrive."

Morrigan laughed, then cleared her throat pointedly. "Such confidence," she said, "but the Arbor Wilds are not kind to visitors. Old elven magic lingers in those woods."

"We would be remiss not to take advantage of your knowledge, Lady Morrigan," Josephine said courteously. "Please, lend us your expertise."

"'Tis why I came here, although it is good to see its value recognized." Morrigan nodded at the Ambassador.

"So you'll join me and my team in the Wilds?" Antonia asked with some surprise.

"You doubt my abilities? Granted, 'tis been some time since the Blight, but I believe Leliana can attest that I acquitted myself adequately in combat." Morrigan's eyes met Leliana's.

"She is right. She will be an admirable addition to any team you choose to put together," Leliana said, holding Morrigan's gaze defiantly. Since Thomas's visit, Leliana had been more serene and less easily needled, which Antonia was glad to see. She still held out hope that somehow Leliana and Thomas could be together once this was all over.

"Any further instructions, Inquisitor?" Cullen asked.

"No instructions, but I just wanted to say to you all ..." She looked at each of her advisors in turn. "The Inquisition began as just a handful of soldiers. Thanks to you, we're now a force that will topple a self-proclaimed god. I could ask for no finer counsel; no better guidance." Antonia blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. It wasn't just the Inquisition these three had built—they had built the Inquisitor, as well. The person she had been before would never have lasted this long. That she had, and had triumphed against so many difficulties, spoke to the strength of the support that had been given her.

Cullen stood straight, crossing his arm over his chest. "I speak for all of us when I answer that we could ask for no finer cause."

"We'll hound Corypheus in the Wilds before he can find the temple, or this eluvian," Leliana said stoutly.

Antonia took a breath. Time to lighten the mood a bit; what they were undertaking was challenging enough without walking into it with doom and gloom written on their foreheads. Not just for the five people in this room, but for the Inquisition as a whole. They had to project confidence in order for everyone else to feel it. "Just one more thing," she said. "We've embarked on a quest that has us facing the most powerful monster in all Thedas." She smiled at them all. "Do get a good night's sleep."

"We'll try." Josephine giggled, glancing at Cullen with a wink, but Antonia imagined she was thinking of Blackwall.

Leliana sighed and looked away, and Morrigan looked at them all disapprovingly.

Cullen grinned. "As you wish, Inquisitor."


	88. Alone with You

_Thanks for reading, all! Happy Friday! Also ... end of this chapter is NSFW._

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_26 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

The camp at the edge of the Arbor Wilds was rather raucous this evening; anticipating that the soldiers would be nervous, Antonia had had an extra couple of rations of ale distributed to everyone and had convinced some of the men who were good musicians to play lively songs to get everyone singing and keep them from brooding.

It had been a good idea ... as far as it went. The soldiers were cheerful and confident, but Antonia hadn't been able to bring herself to join the party. Nor had Cullen, and they sat, the two of them, on a fallen tree near the camp.

"It could be the good future," Cullen offered. "You defeat him and we—we live happily ever after."

"What does that even mean?"

"I could offer some suggestions."

She smiled briefly. "Besides, it's more likely ..." Letting the words trail off, Antonia looked down at her boots, scuffing the ground. "Will you promise me something?"

"I suppose that depends on what you're asking."

"Promise me that—if it's not ... the good future ... you'll try to find someone else and be happy."

"No."

She looked at Cullen in surprise, and he held her gaze without blinking.

"I'm not going to pretend to promise you something I know I'm not going to do." He reached for her hand. Stroking her fingers, Cullen studied the lush greenery around them, clearly searching for the right words to explain. "We've both said that we weren't looking for ... this, and never expected to find it. I can't imagine anything—any_one_—ever being like this again, and if I went looking for lightning to strike twice, I imagine I'd only ... end up getting hurt, or hurting someone else, or both."

"You're awfully calm about this," Antonia observed.

"I am, aren't I? You wouldn't think I would be. But—" He turned to her, sliding along the log to get closer to her. His hands raised to her face, his thumbs supporting her jaw, his fingers curving around her neck. As always, his hands were hot to the touch, warming the chill that had seeped into her at the conversation and the thought of tomorrow. "How many times have I said what an incredible gift you are, what a constant surprise? More than I can count. I think ... Yes. Increasingly I think that to worry about what I would do without this is to miss the point of having it. You are ..." He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. "There are people who look all their lives for a feeling like this, and I've had—so much."

Antonia kissed him, clinging to his cape to hold him close. Smiling, she drew back. "In that case, I hope it won't disappoint you too much if I come back in one piece."

"I suppose I could learn to get used to it." He kissed her fingers, and then deliberately turned her left hand over and kissed the mark that glowed there. "Whatever happens with this, or Corypheus, you have my support and that of your army; you know that, right?"

"I do." Antonia resisted the urge to yank her hand out of his grasp, the Anchor buzzing unpleasantly in her palm. She nodded toward the rest of the camp. "We should make an appearance, let them see us."

"Good idea." He looked around. "Have you seen the dogs?"

"They're in the tent, taking a nap. Or they were earlier. Are all mabari so lazy?"

"What you might call lazy I think they would consider sleeping while the sleeping's good. A trait I'm sure they think we should share." He smiled at her.

Hand in hand they strolled through the camps of soldiers, to universal cheering. If there was anything the Inquisition loved more than its Inquisitor and its Commander, it appeared to be seeing the two of them together. They stopped to talk to some of the soldiers and gave encouragement where it seemed needed; joined in the singing when there was some. Well, Cullen did. Antonia mouthed the words, but she couldn't carry a tune, so she kept silent as much as possible.

The Chargers were there, carousing, and Cassandra and Blackwall were with them. Dorian and the Iron Bull were with the men in spirit, but in body they were in a tied-shut tent in whose direction Krem rolled his eyes. Antonia thought perhaps her friends had the right idea.

Varric was with a knot of soldiers telling inspirational stories, with Cole at his side adding a bit of confusion. Sera was forward with Leliana's spies; Vivienne with some of the mages. Where Solas might be, Antonia couldn't venture a guess. She hoped somewhere that he could be useful tomorrow. And Morrigan had a small tent to herself, and her own fire, and appeared to be sitting some kind of vigil over a book that lay open on her lap.

"Do you think we've made enough of an appearance?" Antonia asked Cullen at last. "I really just want to be alone with you."

"Me, too." He squeezed her hand. Together, they made their way back to their tent, tying the flaps shut behind them.

The puppies—hardly puppies any longer—were curled up asleep in the corner. "We should think about getting a good night's sleep, too," Antonia said. She would have loved more, but they were in the middle of camp, after all; it wasn't really an appropriate place, with all the soldiers around.

"Good thought." They both stripped down to a light enough layer of clothes to be comfortable sleeping, and settled into the blankets.

Antonia snuggled against Cullen, resting her head in the hollow of his throat, sighing. "I feel like there's something more I should say, but ..."

"I think we've said it all, at one point or another," he agreed. "Except ..." He pulled back enough to look at her, tipping her chin up toward him with his fingers. "I love you."

"And I love you." She rolled over so that she could press her back against his chest; his chin rested on the top of her head, his arms crossed over her stomach, his warmth surrounding her and making her feel safe, at least for the moment. But she couldn't sleep, lying there staring into the dark, and she could tell from the tension in him that he wasn't sleeping, either.

After a few minutes, Cullen shifted so that he could kiss the back of her neck, slow, wet kisses, and his hand slid under the loose shirt she wore and found her breasts, cupping and stroking them.

"What are you doing?"

He blew gently on Antonia's skin, making her shiver. "I should think it would be obvious, love; if it's not, I believe I must be doing it wrong."

She caught his hand, meaning to pull it away from her breast, but his thumb was rubbing her nipple, and she was utterly unable to make herself make him stop that. "We shouldn't do this."

"Why not? If memory serves, we've done it before. Rather successfully, in fact," he whispered, biting the side of her neck and then the tender spot where her neck and shoulder joined.

"Because—because they'll hear," she said. Her face was flaming red, she was sure, from embarrassment and her body's response to his touch.

Cullen chuckled, low and sexy, the sound making her quiver. "They already know, trust me. And they all wish they were me," he added with undisguised satisfaction. He pulled her back against him possessively, his warm hand splaying over her stomach.

"It's one thing if they know—quite another if they hear. There are some things the soldiers don't need to know about the Inquisitor," Antonia said. Her arguments would have been more convincing if her hand hadn't stolen around to the back of his neck, holding his head against her, and if her legs weren't parting under the blankets as his hand cupped her center, caressing her through the leggings she wore.

"Well, then," Cullen said in a rough whisper into her ear, "you'll just have to be quiet, won't you? Which is too bad, because I love the sounds you make when I do this—" He bit her neck again, just at the junction with her shoulder, and Antonia had all she could do to keep from crying out. Deftly sliding his hand inside her leggings, his thumb easily finding the place where she was most responsive, he added, "And I love the way you call my name when I do that." He stroked with his thumb there just the way she liked, and she did, indeed, gasp his name. "Shh," he said, but she could feel his smile next to her in the dark, from the way the stubble on his jaw scraped across her skin.

Antonia rolled over, dragging his head down to hers, his name on her lips. The sound was lost in their kiss, tongues finding each other, saying in their frantic touches everything they had wanted to say with words and hadn't been able to, of love and of longing and of fear and of the desperate desire to catch every one of these possibly last moments and never let go.

With a hasty rearrangement of clothes, and some stroking and caressing, he was inside her, buried deep, and Antonia was biting her lip to keep quiet. He withdrew and thrust again. Both of them had wanted to make it go slow, but they were on fire, the need too great to do anything but come together fast and hard, over and over again, gasping for breath as the tension rose between them to the breaking point. When she knew she couldn't hold back any longer, Antonia sank her teeth into his shoulder to keep quiet, holding on while her body quaked and trembled with the intensity of her release, and that triggered his response. He buried his face in her neck, holding her tightly.

"Maker's breath."

"Uh-huh."

He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. Antonia rested her head on his chest, her fingers playing with the buttons down the front of his shirt. Wincing, he probed the spot on his shoulder where the fabric was still wet from her mouth. "I think you'd have broken the skin that time, if I hadn't been wearing a shirt."

"Sorry about that."

"It was worth it." He chuckled. "I'll have the marks for a week, I imagine."

Under ordinary circumstances, she would have enjoyed having marked him like that ... but now she couldn't help thinking the marks of her teeth on his skin might outlast her. She shivered, and Cullen's arm tightened around her.

Antonia couldn't help thinking that so often when they made love, there was an undercurrent of that desperation and that intensity that came from thinking each time might be the last time. If everything went well tomorrow, if she survived and she defeated Corypheus, would they lose that intensity?

"Cullen."

"Mm-hm?"

"Do you think it will be different after we defeat Corypheus?"

"I think a lot of things will be different after we defeat Corypheus. Is there anything you're thinking of specifically?"

"Well ... this. Us."

"Oh." He lifted his head, frowning at her speculatively in the darkness of the tent. "I should hope so. I for one look forward to not having to send you off into battle without me again, and again, and again."

"Yes, that, for sure, but that's not quite what I meant." Antonia rolled over onto her stomach, lying across his chest with her chin propped up on her folded arms. "I meant ... um ... you know, being ... together. Will it lose a certain—intensity if we're no longer worried about it being the last time every time?"

Cullen was silent for a moment. "Huh. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Do you think it will?"

"I don't think so ... but if it does, perhaps it will gain something else, something we haven't imagined." He stroked her hair. "I look forward to finding out, though."

"So do I."


	89. Underfoot

_Thanks for reading, all of you!  
_

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_27 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

The battlefield was chaos, and Cullen felt as though he needed to be everywhere at once, hurrying from crisis point to crisis point.

The men were holding, even pushing ahead, and the Red Templars appeared to be thinning, but every time he thought they were on the edge of defeat it seemed a new wave of them appeared. He sent a set of support troops off to the west where the Red Templars were pushing back against the Inquisition's forces and stopped to help a trebuchet crew dig a wheel out of the soft dirt and sand. The battle plan was changing as the troops surged back and forth across the field, or through the trees and vines, rather, and Cullen was hurrying to keep up with it.

At his heels wherever he went were Lucky on one side and Eustace on the other. He nearly tripped on one or the other every time he turned around.

"Eustace!" he said finally. "Don't you have someplace to be? I can think of ten other places on this battlefield where your skills would be better used."

"I'm sorry, Commander. I have orders."

"Last time I looked, I gave the orders," Cullen snapped. He took a dispatch from a soldier, scanning it quickly. "Tell them I'll send another unit, but that's all I can spare. They have to hold that bridge, whatever it takes," he said to the soldier, who hurried off, and Cullen signaled a small unit of reserves to follow him. "Eustace?" he asked.

"My orders come from a higher authority, Commander." Eustace was quaking in his boots, but he stood his ground.

"The Inquisitor?"

Eustace nodded.

Cullen frowned at him. He would have frowned at Antonia if she'd been there, but she was conveniently far ahead on her way to face Corypheus, and he could really hardly blame her for worrying about his safety when he had privately extracted promises from Dorian, Varric, and the Iron Bull to bring her back safely if such a thing was at all possible ... and would have asked for the same promise from Morrigan if he had thought she would agree.

"Fine," he said to Eustace. "Just don't be underfoot." They hurried off together. Cullen stuck his hand in his pocket, feeling the small velvet bag there and the narrow band of dragonbone inside it. She had to come back, he told himself. As long as he hadn't given her this ring, she had to come back, because it belonged to her. He nodded firmly, letting the ring go and putting Antonia out of his mind as best he could. The Inquisitor and her team were ahead; his job was to make sure the road stayed clear for their return, and that as many Red Templars fell to the Inquisition forces as possible.

He hurried to the next crisis, and the next. Then he came around the corner of a ruined wall and a number of things happened, seemingly all at once. Eustace shouted "Commander!" and shoved him. Something slammed into Cullen's chest. He heard Lucky yelp in anger. And he found himself flat on his back on the ground with a swarm of soldiers around him.

"I'm all right," Cullen said eventually, once he could breathe and talk again, although he was far from being certain that was the case. Certainly standing up and getting out from the center of this knot of people would have to be better. He pushed them all aside, getting to his feet. Once he was able to take stock, he found a deep dent in his breastplate where a Red Templar's arrow had impacted, and beneath it he imagined there would be some colorful bruises tomorrow, but there appeared to be no serious damage done.

He saw Lucky on the other side of the field, pinning down the archer who had hit him, and Eustace was next to him, bleeding freely from a wound in the forearm. Cullen looked it over carefully. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Commander. A field bandage, and I'll be fine."

"You should go back to the medical tent and get that looked at."

"No, ser. I am staying here, following the Inquisitor's orders. We can't afford to lose you, ser."

"Eustace, you damned idiot, go get that looked at!"

Eustace merely stared at him, and Cullen groaned. "Every person I know is as stubborn as the day is long. Fine, then, have it your way. Get that bandaged and let's get back to work. This battle is not going to win itself."

And he was back in the thick of it without giving the incident another thought.


	90. News from the Rear

_Thank you for reading! _

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_27 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

They'd been making good progress so far. Leliana's spies and the scouts from their allies had things well under control, and Antonia's team was making their way at a fairly rapid clip forward toward the Temple where Samson and Corypheus appeared to be.

They stopped to take a drink of water and grab a quick bite in one of the forward camps. While they were there a group of soldiers came up from the rear. The spies and soldiers greeted one another effusively, glad to see friendly, familiar faces.

Antonia knew she should be moving on, but she paused for a few minutes to watch the men together; it was a good reminder for her of the Inquisition they had built together, and of what they were ultimately fighting for.

"What's the news from the rear?" asked one of the spies.

"Not bad," replied a soldier. "We're pushin' back the Red Templars. Lots of 'em keep comin', but they don't go back."

Both men laughed, proud of their people and the work they did.

"How are casualties?"

"Not bad; the men are workin' well together, stayin' safe." He leaned toward the spy and lowered his voice. "We lost the Commander, though—Red Templar arrow took 'im down, I hear. That mabari of his had the Templar in no time flat, but—what?" The soldier followed the spy's stricken gaze to Antonia, who was frozen in place.

"You're certain?" she asked the soldier, in a voice she didn't recognize. Her whole body was trembling, or she thought it was. She couldn't really feel anything.

"I ... Yes, Inquisitor, that's what I heard. I'm—I'm sorry, ser."

"Well, get back to the fighting," she snapped, suddenly angry. "Don't just stand here wasting time!"

They both hurried off, and Antonia tried to remember how to move her legs. She put her hand in her pocket, bringing out the coin he had given her, turning it over and over in her fingers. She should never have accepted it; it was his luck, and she had taken it away from him. And now— How many times had they talked about this day, and neither of them ever considered that he might be the vulnerable one. She tried to picture him, and found she couldn't. Her mind was a blank.

"Herald. Antonia." Varric was at her elbow. "What do you want to do?"

What did she want to do? Die, really. Fall down here and let the blackness take her and never wake up. But she mustered herself—there was a greater task ahead of her, what the Inquisition had been built for. She would finish that task, and then she would collapse. "There's no choice, Varric. We have to go forward and—finish what we came here to do. There will be time ... later ... for ..." She clenched her jaw, knowing that if she started to cry she would never be able to stop, never be able to defeat Corypheus. "I suppose ... I don't have to worry about dying, now."

"Don't say that." Dorian put his hand on her shoulder. "He wouldn't have wanted you to say that, or even to think it."

"What are you saying, you stupid Vint?" the Iron Bull roared. "You believe that crap, that Cullen's dead? I don't believe a word, and I won't, until we get through with this Corypheus and get back and see—Nope. I don't believe it for a minute. And you better not, either, boss. Cullen's too smart to be taken down by some fucking Red Templar arrow."

"Of course, Bull," she said, trying to mean it, trying not to hear through his bluff, trying to ignore the drop of saltwater rolling down from his eye that said he didn't really believe what he was saying either.

After a moment, Morrigan asked crisply, "Well, Inquisitor? Of what stuff are you made? Do you crumple at the loss of a lover, or do you draw strength and move forward?"

Antonia looked Morrigan square in the eye. "I am going to kill Corypheus. Preferably today. Are you with me?"

"I am."

"Good. Let's go." She snapped her fingers at Phoenix, and they moved off. If there was a special viciousness in her blows, an added level of recklessness to the way she tackled each new foe, her team knew better than to mention it.

How she made it through the rest of the day's combat, Antonia was never to remember entirely. She must have had some presence of mind at the time, because she was able to get through the Temple. She followed Morrigan's advice and chose the ritual path, honoring the spirits who lived there, who then fought with her against the Red Templars. She used Dagna's rune to destroy Samson's armor, and somehow managed not to think of that day in Cullen's office when Dagna had brought them the rune, or the grandly simple plans they had begun to make for their future together.

She kept Samson alive for judgment, without thinking of how unfitting it was that Samson should survive the day when Cullen hadn't; without thinking that Cullen deserved to be present when Samson was judged, not ashes on a pyre in the Arbor Wilds. All of those thoughts could come later, back at Skyhold.

Antonia did think of Cullen as Morrigan pleaded to be allowed to use the pool of wisdom. Not that Antonia actually believed anyone should have used it, but it appeared she had little choice in the matter. When Dorian refused, Morrigan was difficult to say no to. And Antonia never gave a moment's thought to using it herself. Even if Cullen had still been— No. Ancient elven magic wasn't for her.

And then Corypheus was there, and there was the dark gladness that they had foiled another of his schemes, and the starkness of knowing she couldn't defeat him today and would have to manage to survive to do so another day. She made sure everyone else was through the mirror, and was considering staying behind to battle Corypheus anyway when Morrigan's strong fingers emerged through the eluvian and dragged her through.

"You have a duty to the Inquisition," Morrigan reminded her on the other side.

Antonia looked at her steadily. "I remember my responsibilities. See to it that in all your newfound knowledge you remember yours."

She turned and left Morrigan's room, wishing she could be free of eluvians and magic and glowing green marks on her hand forever. Phoenix trotted at her heels, and she reached down to pet him, his strong solid body the only reassuring thing she'd felt all day. It occurred to her that Lucky was her responsibility now, too. What did you do with a mabari whose person was ... gone? Antonia very much wanted to ask Cullen that question. She could almost picture his thoughtful look, the pleasure he had always taken in explaining things, in having something new to tell her, but not quite. The image wouldn't crystallize in her mind, and she was grateful for that.

"Antonia, my dear, you should get some rest. It's been a long day," Dorian said softly.

With blank horror, she contemplated the idea of going upstairs to her quarters, where she knew some of his clothes were still piled on the couch, where the pillows would smell like him, where every surface would remind her of his touch— "No," she said emphatically. "No."

"But—" Dorian began to protest, but the Iron Bull put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head seriously.

"Let her be."

"All right. If there's anything ..." Dorian left that sentence unfinished, too, when Antonia turned to look at him. What could anyone do?

Varric stayed after the other two were gone. "Do you want me to write to his sister for you?"

Sister? Oh, yes. Antonia thought of Jared, somewhere here in Skyhold. She would have to tell him. How could she tell him? How could she open her mouth and let those words take shape and form and reality?

"No, Varric. Not yet. I'll—I may need your help later, with his brother, but ... give me a few hours. Please." She was shaking, she could feel it, and she couldn't give way yet. The troops would be coming back in from the battle, and she needed to be strong for them. "I'm going to—to help the surgeon and the healers get ready for the wounded to come back. We'll—think about this later."

"I'll help you." Varric walked with her, silently, on one side, and Phoenix on the other, and she was grateful for their support.


	91. Forethought

_Sorry to have missed last week's updates! Thank you to all of you for reading!_

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_29 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Antonia had made the right choice in deciding to help out the surgeons. Wounded were pouring in from the Wilds, most of them those who had been injured in the early part of the fighting who had had time to get back to Skyhold. She mechanically performed the tasks the surgeons assigned her, glad to see that her presence seemed to help the soldiers; so many of them were awed by the idea that the Inquisitor herself was washing and dressing their wounds.

She tried not to talk to them about the battle, eventually preferring to work on the ones who came in unconscious and couldn't ask her questions. Basic tasks were fine; but anything requiring thought touched on the great gaping wound in her mind and heart that she didn't dare come near, not until she was too exhausted to do anything else. And despite the long day of combat and all the emotions that had filled her throughout the course of it, she was still not quite that tired yet.

How long she had been working she didn't know—long enough to refuse any number of cups of tea, trays of food, and breaks urged on her by various well-meaning people. Varric stayed with her and kept people from asking her questions, and Phoenix lay in a corner, his ears alert and his eyes on her as she worked.

Early the second morning, a group of wounded came in through the gates, and Antonia was busy trying to figure out how they were going to squeeze in any more beds when she heard Varric say, hoarsely, "Well, I'll be a nug's uncle." He called to her. "Antonia. Turn around."

His voice was urgent, and his use of her first name had her snapping her head around toward him. He motioned toward the gates. Antonia followed his gaze, and she froze. Standing by a lathered, weary horse, looking around—looking, no doubt, for her—was a familiar form she had never expected to see again. Her gaze moved slowly upward, taking stock: thick boots; long cape; breastplate; fur collar; blond hair ... Antonia's mouth moved, forming his name, but her voice didn't seem to want to work. Her legs did, carrying her forward without her being entirely aware that they were doing so.

At some point she remembered how to use her voice. "Cullen!"

He turned to look at her, and she barely registered a look of relief and then consternation on his face before she had launched herself into his arms, her own arms and legs wrapped tightly around him. She buried her face in the fur, trying to assure herself she wasn't dreaming. Heated skin; beloved voice in her ear; gentle hands, all familiar and loved and not dead.

"Love, what's wrong? Antonia?"

Eventually she managed to let go, looking up at him and letting her hands touch his face in further reassurance. "Are you real?"

"Shall I bite you to prove it?" he asked very softly in her ear so as not to be heard by those around them.

Dimly through the haze of relief Antonia remembered that was her usual response to him asking the same question, and somehow that broke the dam. The tears she had held back all day came now, and she sobbed in his arms.

Next to her, she heard Varric's quiet voice in explanation. "They told us you were dead. Red Templar arrow. Glad to see rumor was its usual lying self."

"Maker." Cullen's arms tightened around her, holding her close against him. "I did get hit by an arrow, but it only knocked me down for a minute. When did you hear such a thing?"

"Early in the day. Before—before everything," Varric said. "You should have seen her. You would have been proud of how she held up."

"I'm always proud of her." Cullen rested his cheek against her hair, rocking her gently back and forth. "I'm all right, love."

Antonia pulled herself together, aware that she was making a tremendous spectacle of herself amidst all the soldiers who had come in with Cullen and who were no doubt staring at the big, strong Inquisitor crying like a very small child. She swiped at her face with both hands. "Thank the Maker." At last she was able to look up into his eyes, able to really make herself understand that he was there, whole and in one piece and alive. "You were hit?"

He pointed to a sizeable dent in his breastplate.

She touched it gently. "Did I say I hated this thing? I love it. It's my favorite thing ever."

Cullen chuckled, taking both of her hands in his and kissing them. "Are you all right now?"

"I think so. That was—Maker." Then, before she could stop to think about the ramifications or all the fears that had kept her from it before, she gripped his hands more tightly and said, "Marry me, Cullen."

His eyebrows flew up, his breath hitching, but instead of answering he stood there staring at her with a very odd look on his face. Antonia was confused—she wouldn't have expected it to be that difficult a question, even if she hadn't intended to ask it. Then Cullen laughed. "Shouldn't you get down on one knee?"

She smiled. "I suppose. For that matter, I don't have a ring, either. It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment thing."

"Well, then, in that case ..." Cullen let go of her hands, and reached into his pocket. "Perhaps you could let someone with a little more forethought show you how it's done?" He withdrew a small velvet bag, and Antonia put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, you had a plan! And I completely stepped on it, didn't I? I'm sorry!"

He gave her a mock frown. "You think you want to marry me and you didn't know I had a plan? Perhaps I should be rethinking this."

"No! No, you don't have to rethink anything. I was ... out of my head. Stressful day," she reminded him.

"Yes, that's true. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, in that case." He grinned at her. "Besides, the weakest part of my plan was the part where I had to convince you to say yes, so you've actually been a big help." Taking a deep breath, he got down on the requisite knee, holding her hands in his.

Antonia couldn't help it. "Yes!"

A laugh went through the crowd that had indeed gathered around them, entirely unnoticed by both of them up until now.

Cullen groaned, pressing his face against the back of her hands. "Now, all we need is—"

"Commander!" Eustace put in helpfully, grinning widely. With all her focus on Cullen, Antonia hadn't even seen him, or Lucky, who sat next to Phoenix, both of them grinning doggy grins.

"There he is." Cullen nodded. "Now, it's perfect." He shook his head, but he was smiling. "I had a whole speech, and it was very moving, but at this rate that would take us until the next age. So ..." He wasn't smiling now; the look in his eyes made Antonia tremble. "Antonia Trevelyan, light of my life, will you marry me?"

She nodded. "Yes, please," she whispered.

Between his shaking hands and hers, it was another production getting the simple but beautiful band of carved dragonbone out of the little velvet bag and onto her finger, but at last they managed it, and then she was pulling him up to his feet, and his arms were around her and his mouth seeking hers, sealing the promise with a kiss. Around them the assembled soldiers were cheering and catcalling and applauding.

At last she broke the kiss, turning to face her people. "I think we've all deserved a celebration. Ale and wine will be on tap tonight, as our gift to you. We couldn't have made it through today without all of you." Suddenly a wave of dizziness and exhaustion came over her, and if Cullen hadn't been there to catch her, she would have fallen.

"She hasn't slept a wink since ..." Varric said to Cullen, who bent and slipped his arm under her knees, picking her up.

"The Inquisitor is going to get some sleep. I recommend you all do, as well," he said. "The ale will still be there when everyone's rested again."

Antonia was only vaguely aware of the crowd parting to let him through, of the dogs trotting after them, and she was asleep in his arms long before they made it to her quarters.


	92. In This Crowd

_I am incredibly thankful for all of you! You make my day.  
_

* * *

_29 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

Roya was waiting in Antonia's quarters when Cullen brought her up, and between them they got Antonia's armor off and got her into bed without waking her. Spying the ring on Antonia's finger, the dwarf looked up at Cullen with the first glimmer of approval he'd seen from her.

"It's about time."

"I should say so," he agreed fervently.

With a last fond look at Antonia, Roya left the room, leaving Cullen alone with the sleeping Inquisitor. He wanted to just lie there and look at her, soaking in the knowledge that she had survived another encounter with Corypheus, but there were things to do—he would rather do them now and have the leisure to lie there with her when she woke up. So he took off his armor, cleaned both his armor and hers along with their weapons, wiped down the dogs with a big, damp towel, took a bath, went downstairs and made sure the wounded were being well taken care of ... and at the end of it all, she was still sleeping, a deep, exhausted sleep.

Now he did lie down with her, on his side, watching her face. He lifted his hand, skimming the backs of his fingers lightly over her hair, needing to touch her but anxious to avoid waking her. Cullen didn't know how close he had come to losing her today, but he could easily imagine how she had felt through it all thinking she had lost him. Would he have borne up as well, performed his tasks as ably, in the same circumstance? His pride in and admiration of her swelled in him.

Hours later, deep in a dreamless sleep, he heard her voice. "No. No! Oh, no. Please, no." Struggling awake with some difficulty, Cullen saw her, still fast asleep, with tears leaking out the corners of her closed eyes, her head rolling back and forth on the pillow, and he reached for her.

"Antonia. Wake up, love. Wake up," he whispered, gathering her into his arms the way she had done so often before for him.

She came awake with a start, her eyes searching the dim room before settling on his face. "Cullen?" She lifted her hand, fingertips stroking his cheek. "Oh, thank the Maker."

"I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"That was ... I never want to live through another day like that again. I just ... I couldn't even think, because if I did ... It's a wonder I didn't cede all of Thedas to the ancient elves of the Temple."

Cullen wondered briefly what she meant by that, not having heard any of what had happened in the Temple other than the defeat of Samson and the disappearance of Corypheus, but any thoughts he had of asking were driven from his head as Antonia's fingers started on the buttons of his shirt, kissing the warm skin that lay beneath. He shifted to let her slide the shirt off his shoulders.

He could sense her need to touch and taste and reassure herself, so he allowed her to push him backward—not that he had any particular objection. By this point, he could generally feel her touch without remembering his experiences in the tower, depending on his state of mind.

She climbed on top of him, her brow furrowing as she looked him over, her hands lightly running over his chest and stomach, leaning down to kiss first the teeth marks she had left in his shoulder before the battle and then the spreading bruise where the arrow had impacted. Cullen winced, and Antonia pulled back.

"I'm sorry."

He sat up. "It's all right. _I'm_ all right. Really."

Antonia took his face in her hands. "Please don't leave me."

"I'm not going to, love. I promised, didn't I?" He reached up to hold on to her left hand, his thumb rubbing over the edge of the ring there.

"Technically, I think I promised."

"Then I will, too. We can go find Mother Giselle right this moment if that's what you want, with you still covered in ... Well, maybe after you've had a bath." He smiled at her, but the offer hadn't entirely been a joke. In truth, it hadn't been a joke at all.

Antonia knew him well, and she took him seriously, sitting back on her heels and shaking her head. "No, not like that, Cullen. I want—I want the whole thing. The pretty dress and both of our families ... and the assurance that nothing is going to—to take us away from each other again. I want everything."

"As always. You're rather greedy, aren't you?"

"You're just finding this out?" She laughed. "Besides, look who's talking. You finally got a ring on my finger, and all you can think of is putting on another one—which of us is the greedy one?"

"I just ... the Chantry would despair of me, I fear. I want all the talismans I can get to be sure that the next time you face Corypheus—"

"Stop. No more. Not that name again, not today. I thought ... I thought I'd lost you and now here you are, and ..." She looked at her hand, tears shining in her eyes. "It's a beautiful ring, Cullen. I love it—and I love you."

"There are all sorts of runes worked into it, too. Healing, and protection, and extra strength, and ... shiny hair, or something like that. You'll have to ask Dagna for the full list; she just kept talking, and I was busy trying to think of a way to convince you to accept it."

"I think you overshot," Antonia said dryly.

"That wasn't my fault; I had no idea such a rumor was going around, and it ... To think what you must have been through, and to do everything you did—You are extraordinary, you know that, right?" He pulled her close. "What did happen in the Temple?"

"Oh." Antonia took a deep breath. "Do you know, I'm not entirely sure myself. It—everything was a bit of a blur after ..." She nuzzled his neck, breathing in his scent. "You've been using my soap."

"Yes; there wasn't anything else."

"We'll have to remedy that now, won't we?" She looked up at him. "Because if I'm going to agree to be engaged, you're going to agree to live here, where there's an actual ceiling. And because ... after— I don't want to spend any more time apart from you than I absolutely have to. Not until I'm really sure that you're not—" She shivered.

"Understood. And agreed. And very mutual." He rested his forehead against hers.

"Good."

How long they sat like that, taking comfort and strength from each other's touch, neither one was certain. Outside, the day had passed, the evening drawing in.

Eventually, Antonia pulled back. "I do actually want to know what happened yesterday, from someone who was more in control of their faculties than I was. How about, while I take a bath, you arrange to have some food sent up, and get the boys, and Jared, and ... whoever else is back from the Wilds." She smiled. "After all, we have quite a few things to celebrate."

"I like that plan. All but the part where I don't get to come help you bathe."

"And he says I'm the greedy one." She poked the bite mark on his shoulder. "Later, my darling."

"Promise?"

She gave him a wicked smile. "Remember, I slept all day. Which means you can count on not sleeping much all night."

Cullen was struck anew by all the wonders of the day—that she was alive, that she was here with him, that she had agreed to marry him, that for the moment they still had their whole lives together before them, that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and by some miracle was his—and he had to kiss her, hungrily, possessively, tenderly.

She emerged from his kisses with her skin flushed, her hair tousled, and her eyes sparkling. "Enough of that for now—be off with you. And be sure to get lots of food. I could eat a dragon."

"Too tough."

"Fine, a baby dragon then."

By the time he had rounded up a select few people and enough food to feed an army, she was out of the bath, much to Cullen's disappointment. She was wearing the green dress from Wintersend, though, and the prospect of taking it off her later was a pleasant one.

Dorian and the Iron Bull were the first ones up, and Cullen was startled to find himself in the midst of a bone-crushing hug from the Qunari. "Cullen! I told these idiots you were entirely too intelligent to let yourself get killed like an amateur. And she promised to believe me."

"I tried," Antonia said faintly.

"Next time, you'll listen to Uncle Bull, won't you?" he said sternly. To Cullen, he added, "The Chargers are ready to drink your health with you anytime. And to follow you into the Void whenever you give the order."

"Thank you, Bull."

Dorian put a hand on his shoulder. "I thought we were going to lose both of you," he said in a rare display of emotion, but he covered it quickly by adding, "And then I would have been stuck with this lout and Varric."

"Who's using my name in vain?" the dwarf said, coming up the stairs with Cassandra. "That was quite a show you two put on in the courtyard earlier," he said to Cullen and Antonia, his eyes twinkling. "Even I will be hard put to improve on it in my chronicle of the Inquisition."

"He's writing about us?" Cullen asked Antonia. "Did you know about this? I fear I didn't come off very well in the first story he stuck me in."

"Yes, but then you were comic relief. Now you're the romantic lead. Makes all the difference. Besides, you were rather heroic when Hawke was kidnapped and you let Sunshine out of the Circle to help her."

Cullen shrugged, not wanting to get into stories of Kirkwall.

Jared was the next one up. "Sis!" he said to Antonia, enveloping her in a big hug. He glared at Cullen. "I heard you scared this poor girl half to death."

"I didn't have anything to do with it. Besides, you're my brother—why are you on her side?"

"Have you looked at her?" Jared grinned, and Cullen had to admit he couldn't argue with his brother's logic. Jared transferred his gaze, if not his hug, to Cassandra. "I heard you also fought quite well, my lady."

"I believe I was adequate," Cassandra said stiffly, then, with more warmth, "but thank you."

Cullen wondered if he should warn his brother off, but he wasn't entirely clear on where things stood between Cassandra and Varric, or if they stood anywhere, and for that matter, both the dwarf and Jared were grown men, perfectly capable of fighting their own battles and winning the hand of the fair maiden on their own.

Blackwall and Josephine were the last ones to come up the stairs, hand in hand. Josephine came and hugged Antonia. "My friend, many congratulations to you! Let me see."

Antonia held out her hand and Josephine exclaimed over the ring, as did Dorian. Cassandra quirked an eyebrow at Cullen. "Is that not the Inquisition's dragonbone?"

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Is that not the Inquisitor? Who better to wear it?"

"She killed it, after all," the Iron Bull roared, and as everyone helped themselves to food, he told the story of killing the Hinterlands dragon. Since he and Antonia had not been together at the time, Cullen had never heard the story, and the Iron Bull's description of the combat sent chills through him.

The Iron Bull's enthusiasm waned as he got to the end of the story, with himself getting slashed across the chest and Antonia getting a dragon's hind leg in the ribs. "Maybe ... not the best story at the moment," he said at the end. "Still, we killed it."

"I can't imagine what I couldn't face with the three of you behind me," Antonia said. "Yesterday, you all ... without you I don't think I would've made it."

"You did fine, Herald," Varric said.

"What, exactly, did you do?" Cullen asked.

"I find my memories of yesterday are a bit hazy," Antonia said. She reached for Cullen's hand.

"Well, then, in that case ... if you'll all get comfortable, I think Sparkler and I can spin you a tale."

"Hey, I can tell stories, too!" the Iron Bull protested.

"'Course you can, Tiny," Varric said. "'Course you can."

"Varric's mean. Dorian, set his chest hair on fire."

"We can try that later."

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?" Varric moved ostentatiously to the other side of the room from Dorian and the Iron Bull.

"Leave the storyteller be," Cullen said. "He was just about to tell us what you all got up to yesterday."

"Yes, I was." Varric launched into the story, acting out with vivid detail the various attempts Antonia had made to complete the elven rituals, with Dorian and the Iron Bull backing him up. Cassandra pulled Antonia's chair out from behind the desk and placed it near where Varric was pacing up and down in full swing; Jared settled on the floor near the chair. Blackwall and Josephine sat on the couch, very close to one another. Dorian had the armchair, and the Iron Bull sat on the floor in front of him, leaning his head against Dorian's knee.

Cullen sat at the end of Antonia's bed—their bed now, he supposed, and what a thrill that concept gave him—with Antonia safe in his arms, leaning back against his chest. The two dogs had settled onto their bed once it was clear no one was going to give them any more treats. Phoenix had the occasional comment to make on Varric's narrative, as the dwarf moved on to tell the story of meeting the ancient elven protectors of the Temple and Antonia's fine words convincing them to work with her against Corypheus.

"Really, Varric, I thought all I said was something like 'those defilers are my enemy; help me kill them'," Antonia protested. "I don't think I had it in me to be all that flowery."

"Poetic license, Herald. You'd have said all those things under ... other circumstances, I'm sure."

Dorian picked up the narrative with the way Antonia had faced down Samson, using Dagna's rune to destroy the red lyrium armor. "I've never seen her smile quite so dangerously before. Samson was as unnerved by that look as he was by the loss of his armor, I think." Dorian gave an exaggerated shudder.

"True story," the Iron Bull put in. "I was quaking in my boots. Tiny girl, the boss—well, compared to me, at least—but big balls."

"Thank you, Bull." Antonia shook her head. "The things a person gets used to accepting as a compliment in this crowd."

The Iron Bull told the story of the fight with Samson and his men, nearly impaling Dorian with his horns several times in his zeal to get all the actions down. "Of course, that wasn't the end of it."

"No." Varric frowned. "Because then a big-ass black bird and a weird, scary elf raced each other to the top of the steps and started arguing over who was going to get to drink out of a really old fountain full of ancient elf brains."

"Come again?" Cullen asked, trying to decipher the Varric-speak.

"He means the Well of Wisdom," Antonia explained. "Morrigan wanted to drink from it; Abelas wanted to destroy it so no one could corrupt it."

"And?" Josephine asked.

"End result: Morrigan," Varric said succinctly.

Cullen frowned. "Really?"

"She caught me in a weak moment. I wanted to say no, to go with Abelas, but then he disappeared, and it was her or me. Or Dorian." Antonia gave the mage an exasperated look.

"I have more than enough knowledge in my head already, and since the elves' story directly contradicts that of my people, I think I'll have better luck if I'm not speaking in a strange ancient elvish tongue when I try to explain that."

The Iron Bull looked up at Dorian in surprise. "You're going to go to Tevinter and tell that story?"

"It's crossed my mind."

"It's a good thing you've got me, then. You'll need a guy with a damn big sword at your side if you're going to waltz into Minrathous with that pile of facts. Wonder if Krem'll mind going back," the Iron Bull muttered. He rubbed his temple against Dorian's knee.

"Anyway," Antonia went on, "at the time I thought—" Her hands found one of Cullen's, holding it tightly. "I didn't think I was going to want any more wisdom. Or any more of anything, really. So it seemed like letting Morrigan have it was the thing to do."

"You don't think she'll turn her newfound knowledge against us?"

"Not until after we defeat Corypheus," Antonia said. She gave a weary sigh; Cullen could tell that despite her long sleep earlier in the day her energy was flagging as they got to the end of the story of the battle. "Time enough to worry about her if—then."

"Fair enough."

"What happened then?" Jared asked.

"Corypheus showed up, and was pissed," Varric said.

"Then Morrigan opened up the mirror, and we all went through it," Dorian added.

The Iron Bull looked at Antonia with some sympathy. "Except for someone who didn't believe her Uncle Bull and decided to stay behind and handle the old guy herself."

"You did that?" Cullen asked, drawing in his breath in dismay. He could have done without knowing he had been so close to losing her.

"I wanted it over. All of it." Her hands were still on his, and they were suddenly very cold.

"At least Morrigan used her wisdom to a good purpose," Dorian said. "She yanked our Inquisitor into the mirror and back to Skyhold, where we are all very happy to see her." He gave a very exaggerated yawn. "Bull, look at the time. Didn't we promise the Chargers we would read them bedtime stories?"

"Yeah. That's what we told them. Bedtime stories." The Iron Bull got up off the floor, holding out his hand to Dorian. "Varric, bedtime stories?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Antonia got up and went to the three of them. "Thank you all for having my back. I couldn't have gotten through yesterday without you."

"Anytime, boss."

It was an odd picture, the giant Qunari gently embracing the small woman nearly two feet shorter than he was, but a sweet one, as well, and reflected then in Antonia's embrace of Varric. She hugged Dorian last, holding on tightly. Once Cullen might have been jealous of the mage; now he was just happy she had such people protecting her when he couldn't.

Blackwall and Josephine got up from the couch, taking their leave as well, and Cassandra followed them. Cullen wondered if she lingered for a minute waiting for Jared—it seemed that she might be, but then, he could just be imagining things on his brother's behalf.

Jared was the last, and they both walked him to the top of the stairs. "You know," he said, "the people know you're doing good work, but the kinds of things I heard about tonight—those are ... beyond anything I would have imagined you would deal with." He crossed his arm over his chest. "Inquisitor, whatever aid this old soldier can provide, I am glad to be here." He ruffled Cullen's hair. "Little brother, is this worse than Kirkwall, or the tower?"

"Corypheus is worse, certainly," Cullen said, not particularly wanting to go into details on those other parts of his life. "For me, personally, the danger is less ... but the stakes are higher," he added softly, slipping an arm around Antonia's waist and pulling her close to him, taking comfort in the warmth of her body next to him.

Jared grinned. "I know when I'm being given a signal. Good-night, both of you."

When Jared was gone, Cullen pulled her into his arms. "You did that? Tried to stay behind again?" He could hear the roughness fear had put into his voice. "You can't keep doing that."

"I wouldn't have under normal circumstances, but ... I wanted it to be over, Cullen. Without you—there didn't seem to be any point in not staying and fighting."

"Maker. My light, if I have to lose you, please don't let it be because you gave up and threw your life away on a fight you can't win. Promise me that much—no matter what happens."

"I promise." She lifted her face to his, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Can we stop talking about this, please? At least for tonight?"

"Your wish is my command." He sought her lips with his in a sweet, tender kiss. "Besides, I believe we have some celebrating to do."

"I like the sound of that. What did you have in mind?"

He turned her around in his arms, undoing just the very top button of her dress. "I had rather thought about taking this off you," he whispered, kissing her neck. He undid another button, and then another, letting just the tip of his tongue draw patterns on the soft, smooth skin of her back.

"I can't celebrate with my clothes on?" Antonia said. She chuckled breathlessly.

"Not nearly as well." Another button, another swath of skin to nibble on.

"What is it with you and buttons?"

"Are you complaining?" He had nearly run out of buttons, which was a shame. There was something so delicious about revealing her little by little that way.

"No." The dress was loose enough now around her torso that she could slip her arms out of it, and it fell around her waist.

Cullen had her breastband off in another moment, filling his hands with her soft breasts, rewarded with her moan, her head back against his shoulder now. He kissed along the top of her shoulder, nipping at the base of her neck. Then he rubbed his cheek against hers. "I love you. My beautiful fiancee." It was a bit of a ridiculous, Orlesified word, but what it symbolized was not ridiculous at all.

Antonia turned around in his arms, giving him a questioning look. "It makes that much difference to you?"

"Doesn't it to you?"

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, it does." She took his hand and led him to the bed, letting the dress fall entirely and sending her smallclothes after it. "Do you think it will feel different?"

He smiled. "Let's find out." His clothes followed hers on the floor, and they stretched out on the bed. Cullen bent to kiss her, a long searching kiss as his hands caressed her body, drawing on the months spent learning everything that gave her pleasure to build and stoke the fires in her slowly, until she was gasping beneath him. Her hands were busy, as well, and Cullen marveled at how perfect it seemed, this fluid giving and receiving of love. Nothing in his experience had been like this, no woman as generous and demanding at the same time.

He was stroking the core of her now, and Antonia shifted underneath him, her hips thrusting up. "Cullen, I need you," she whispered.

If there were four more erotic words in the Common language, he had certainly never heard them. "Yes, my light." He moved over her, lifting one of her legs to wrap it around his hip, and then thrust slow and deep, looking down into her beautiful face. "I love you."

"I love you, so much." There were tears in her eyes. "I thought I would never—never feel you again, never—"

Cullen bent and kissed her eyelids closed, kissing away the tears that slid out from the corners. He pressed even deeper into her. "Feel me now, my beloved, right there inside you."

"Oh, yes, Cullen." Her other leg wrapped tightly around him, her arms around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair holding his head to her as she kissed him.

He kept his movements slow, wanting her to feel everything, wanting to feel it himself, wanting to make this last as long as possible, her mouth on his, the scent and taste and warmth of her everything that mattered.

Antonia peaked first, holding on to him tightly, crying out without words, and he hurried to finish with her, her name on his lips as the pleasure took him. They lay a long time in the afterglow, exchanging small kisses and words of love, until both of them were too sleepy to speak clearly.

Under the covers, he snuggled up next to her, resting his chin on her hair, her back against his chest. Cullen was almost asleep when he saw her raise the hand with the ring on it to her lips, and heard her whisper, "Fiance," in a tone of wonder.

With a smile, he let himself slip the rest of the way into sleep.


	93. Just Kill His Dragon

_Many thanks to all of you for reading!  
_

* * *

_30 Bloomingtide, 9:42_

They gathered in the War Room early the next day to go over the reports from the battlefield. Leliana greeted Antonia with a warm hug. "My friend, I am glad to see you up and about—you pushed yourself very hard."

Antonia had a dim recollection of Leliana being one of the people who showed up with a tray of food while she was helping the wounded. "I had reasons."

"So I heard. We must improve our battlefield communication, clearly—such unsubstantiated rumors are disturbing to the whole army. A significant number of the forward troops thought our Commander was lost, and it caused problems with morale."

"I'll say," Antonia muttered, and Cullen reached for her hand. Her left hand, where the opposing pulls of the hated pulse of the Anchor and the beautiful shine of her engagement ring were a constant reminder of the balancing act her mind and heart had to perform.

"Congratulations, as well," Leliana said. "Now .. to work."

Cullen nodded. "As we all know, we won the battle, although not easily. I'm told by those who were closer to the Temple that when you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his Archdemon fled the field, although no one appears to know why." He glanced at Morrigan.

"What he wanted was no longer within the Temple," she said, as though that should have been obvious.

"Perhaps. What I found most interesting was that he made no attempt to sway the course of the battle, but I wonder if he had spent so long trying to get into the Temple that he could no longer have helped his forces by that point."

Josephine looked at the two of them, frowning. "Then ... Corypheus is finished."

"If he is wise, he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again," Leliana said.

Antonia didn't think Corypheus was feeling particularly wise. She had foiled his plans again; he was very, very angry with her.

Morrigan appeared to agree with her assessment. With narrowed eyes, she looked at Leliana. "He will not hide."

"Do you think he will attack us directly, at Skyhold?" Antonia asked. The thought made her sick to her stomach. Haven had been bad enough, but Skyhold was her home; she loved it as she had loved nowhere else she had ever lived. She couldn't bear to see Corypheus destroy it.

"Not necessarily." Morrigan's eyes were surprisingly kind as she turned to Antonia, perhaps understanding her feeling for Skyhold. "But neither will he remain idle. You know that, Inquisitor. You saw him."

"Yes."

"And how could you have such insight into his plans?" Leliana asked Morrigan suspiciously.

"The Well of Sorrows held many voices, and they speak to me now from across the ages."

Leliana apparently hadn't heard that part of the tale, and she glanced at Antonia in shock that she didn't disguise quite quickly enough. Antonia couldn't help but be amused by Morrigan's superior tone; she had suspected all along that the worst immediate consequence of allowing Morrigan to absorb the wisdom of the Well was that the witch would be insufferable afterward.

"They hold wisdom, secrets I never dreamed possible," Morrigan continued, slightly less boastfully. There was a hint of wonder in her tone, as if even her own expectations had been exceeded by the experience. "But even they fear what Corypheus has become."

"He's not a god; not yet," Antonia said. "Is he?"

"Not yet," Morrigan confirmed. "He is both powerful and immortal ... but he has a weakness."

"Thank the Maker for that," Cullen breathed fervently.

Morrigan nodded at him. "The dragon he calls is not truly an Archdemon. It is a dragon in which Corypheus has invested part of his being. He doubtless did so out of pride, to emulate the gods of old. That pride can be exploited. Kill the dragon, and his ability to leap into other bodies is disrupted. He can be slain."

"Of course," Antonia said. "Just kill his dragon. Easy as pie. Why didn't I think of that before?" What she was thinking of now was the last time they had fought a dragon, in the Hinterlands, where she had ended up with her ribs kicked in and the Iron Bull had gained a new scar.

From the look on Cullen's face, he was thinking of that, too. Josephine and Leliana were both silent and tense, keeping their own counsel.

"There is a way to defeat the dragon, to match Corypheus in his power. The Well whispers it to me now," Morrigan said. "Your help will be required, Inquisitor." She looked around the room. "We will speak of the details later."

"I have no secrets from anyone here," Antonia said, not certain that she trusted Morrigan and her newfound knowledge. Then again, Morrigan, whatever she wanted, would not want Corypheus in her way. Antonia believed Morrigan's intentions could be trusted up until Corypheus was dead, but after that, they would have to be on their toes around the witch, waiting for the other axe to fall.

"You may not," Morrigan said, sweeping the room with her gaze, "but I do." She turned and left the room.

"Pardon me for being critical, Inquisitor," Leliana said, choosing her words slowly and with care, "but do you really think it was wise to have given Morrigan access to such power?"

Antonia looked down at her hands. "I confess, at the time, I wasn't really giving a lot of thought to the long picture. Had it been entirely up to me—or, perhaps, had I been more on top of the situation—I would have allowed Abelas to destroy the Well as he wanted to do. I tried to have Dorian take on that knowledge instead of Morrigan, but he refused."

"And you did not choose to take it yourself?" Josephine asked.

"No. I wouldn't have considered it. Even if I had not thought that—" She didn't look at Cullen, and didn't want to think about how empty and pointless her life had seemed when she thought she would have to live it without him. "Under any circumstances, I would not have wanted to take into myself the mystic memories of generations of elves. I am not an elf, and I have never had any particular interest in magic or ancient knowledge." Trying to inject some levity into the overly serious thoughts she was having, she added, "Now, perhaps if it was the Well of Warriors, and I could have gained more knowledge of fighting tactics, it might have been a different story."

Cullen smiled at her, recognizing what she was trying to do, but Leliana sighed. "I must confess, I am worried for her."

"For whom?" Cullen asked. "Morrigan? That's ... a surprise."

"It is a lot to take on," Leliana said. "I suspect it is more than she anticipated. We will have to watch her—for our sake, and for hers."

"You do that," Cullen said. "I will see to Skyhold's defenses. This will not be another Haven." He swallowed, his fist clenching. "Also, I have received word that Samson will be brought in tomorrow. With your permission, Inquisitor, I would like to be present at his judgment."

"Naturally. No one has a better right."

"Inquisitor," Josephine asked, "are you comfortable trusting Morrigan's information about this dragon, and about Corypheus? Or should we be ... searching for further answers?"

All three of them were looking at her now, and Antonia couldn't help but think of the days when they all made the decisions and told her about them, and how far they had come since then. "Let me talk to Morrigan first, and then we can discuss it again, the four of us, once I know what her plan requires. For the moment, I think as far as defeating Corypheus is concerned, she is fully on our side. After that ... it's hard to say at this point."

She was glad to see Leliana, who knew Morrigan so much better than she, nodding. "That is sensible thinking, Inquisitor."

Antonia was glad she sounded sensible, because mostly what she felt was tired. And now she would have to think long and hard about what she was going to do with Samson. The temptation to do whatever Cullen wanted would be strong, and he had a right to an opinion, but she would also have to weigh his desire for vengeance against what possible further use Samson might be in the fight against Corypheus.

She rubbed her thumb over the edge of her engagement ring, a new habit. It was a reminder that she was more determined than ever to use whatever tools were at hand to come out of that battle alive. Looking up, she met Cullen's eyes, and saw that determination reflected there.


	94. Vengeance

_Thank you for reading!  
_

* * *

_1 Justinian, 9:42_

The main hall of Skyhold was packed with people, most of them soldiers who had fought the Red Templars; among them Antonia could see several ex-Templars as well, their former vocation obvious from their stances and from the especially hostile glares they gave Samson as he was brought through the crowd to stand in front of her.

Glancing at Josephine, who nodded courteously, Cullen came forward in her stead. "Forgive me, Inquisitor. For personal interest, I have relieved Josephine," he said formally, for the record. They had discussed him taking on this role in the War Room yesterday, and they had all agreed it was appropriate. "As you might expect." He turned to the rest of Skyhold, raising his voice. "Knight-Templar Samson, General to Corypheus, traitor to the Order. The blood on his hands cannot be measured. His head is too valuable to take. Kirkwall, Orlais: Many would like to see him suffer. I can't say I'm not one of them," he added in a lower tone.

Antonia sat forward, studying Samson carefully. He looked back at her with intelligence—the red lyrium had not taken that away. She wasn't certain if that would make it easier or harder to judge him. After consideration, she had not discussed with Cullen what she planned to do today; she wanted to avoid any possibility that his opinions might sway hers. "Judging him will affect as many as his crimes," she said now in response to Cullen's comments. "I won't take it lightly."

Samson shook his head wearily. "The red lyrium will steal your vengeance. You know what it does. Corypheus only delayed my corruption."

"Are you still loyal to that thing?" Cullen shouted, outraged. "He poisoned the Order, used them to kill thousands!"

"Templars have always been used. How many were left to rot, like I was, after the Chantry burned their minds?" Samson asked, his lip curling in disgust. Compared to the increasingly agitated Cullen, he appeared very calm and very sure of himself. "Piss on it! I followed him so the Templars could at least die at their best. It's the same lie as the Chantry's. The Prophet just isn't as pretty."

Antonia waved Cullen back when he would have argued, looking at Samson herself. "I found your people," she said to him. "They believed in you, believed your cause was righteous. But you didn't believe what you told them?"

Samson's mouth pinched, and he looked away, discomfited for the first time. "Not your business, Inquisitor."

"Your friend Maddox was so loyal he killed himself. For you," Cullen said.

"He—they were always going to die. I saw what Corypheus was doing, so, yes, I fed them hope instead of despair. I made them believe their pain had purpose. Just like the Chantry does. Right, Commander?" The two men looked at each other, each clearly thinking his course the superior. "It ended as well as anything else I've done." Samson sighed. "Corypheus would kill me on sight. I'll tell your people what they want. Everything I cared about is destroyed."

"Very well." Antonia paused, considering the options open to her. Had she chosen the best one? She thought so; she doubted very much that Cullen would agree. She glanced over at him briefly; he looked every inch the Templar right now, and she could tell he was braced to accept whatever she said with no outward response, in keeping with the dignity of his position. She just hoped the private response would be less explosive than she expected. "Samson," she said, focusing on him and deliberately forgetting that the eyes of the room, and indeed, the world, were on her right now, "you will spend your remaining years serving the Inquisition. Cullen will be your handler. Perhaps he can get something useful out of you."

The two men exchanged another glance, Samson's faintly amused, Cullen's set and strained. "I doubt the commander believes there's anything worthy left in me," Samson said.

"You're not wrong," Cullen agreed, but Antonia could see an easing of tension in him that said he was going to accept the plan. He nodded. "But you served something greater than yourself once. Perhaps you can be made to remember that." He looked at the jailers. "Take him to the cells. I will deal with him later."

Antonia stood up, dismissing everyone, and headed straight for the War Room, knowing Cullen, at least, was following her.

Josephine was the first one inside, however. "Did you talk to him about your decision before you gave it?" the Ambassador asked.

"No."

"Won't that be interesting." Josephine smiled.

"Probably."

Cullen and Leliana came in together. "What in the Void was that?" he demanded.

"Justice."

"For whom?"

"For those of us who still have to fight Corypheus and need every piece of information you can get," she said, using the most powerful arrow in her quiver directly off the bat.

It scored a hit; Cullen lost his combative stance immediately, blinking. "You can't think he's going to give us any truths whatsoever," he objected.

Leliana said, "There are ways. I can work with you, if you like."

Antonia kept her eyes steadily on Cullen. "Thank you, Leliana. I think Cullen's knowledge of Samson and the Templars will make him the most effective person to get whatever information there is to be had out of him, but I'm sure your assistance will be helpful."

Cullen turned away from all of them, rubbing the back of his neck. "How am I going to get anything useful out of him when all I really want is to wring his neck? And he knows it."

"Just ... talk to him before you make up your mind that it's hopeless. Give it one shot, that's all I ask, and if you think it's not going to work, we'll rethink the strategy, ship him off to Kirkwall or wherever seems most appropriate." Part of Antonia had to admit that she was thinking of Cullen; he needed to know what Samson knew, needed to put Samson away in his mind.

"Fine. I ... will make the attempt," Cullen said, but in a voice that said he was anything but sanguine about the results.


	95. This Traitor

_Thank you all for reading! _

* * *

_2 Justinian, 9:42_

Cullen stood at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the door into the prison, unable to make himself push it open. What had she been thinking, making this traitor, this monster, his responsibility? He didn't want this.

But wasn't it his responsibility? He had known Samson before all this happened; he had seen the change in him from a good man and a Templar who tried to do the right thing to a beggar willing to do anything for more lyrium. He had never stepped in between Knight-Commander Meredith and her harsh methods, and in some ways, that had helped to create this situation. At least, it had left an opening for a Samson to rise, to lead the Templars in the wrong direction.

Sighing, he pushed open the door, walking across the room toward the cell where Samson waited. The man was doubled over with pain, gasping, but he made an effort to straighten when he saw Cullen. "Come to gloat, Knight-Captain?"

"That is not my title."

"You were Knight-Commander for a while, weren't you? Rather I call you that?"

Cullen sighed. "Call me whatever you want; it doesn't matter."

"You look tired, Cullen. Not as easy turning your back on the Order as you thought, was it?"

"I did not turn my back on the Order! I chose to look in a different direction."

Samson grinned. "So did I."

"No one became an abomination because of my decisions; no one turned against their beliefs and vows and became a perversion of themselves. Do not compare yourself to me."

"Oh, but isn't that what we are, the light and dark sides of the coin? A few more nudges in a different direction, and you become me."

Cullen couldn't help the sudden shiver. It was cold down here, but that wasn't the reason; Samson's words struck a chord within him. What would it have taken to send him down Samson's path?

"You know it, don't you?" Samson asked, his voice rasping across the words.

"I want to know what you know. What is Corypheus after?"

"Power."

"That's too simple."

"Is it? What's the Chantry after? It wants power, just the same, only for more people. Corypheus wants it all in his own hands. But they go after it the same way, by using people for their own ends. And neither one of them cares what happens to the tools when they're done with them."

Cullen wanted to argue, but there was none to be made. Samson had been right at the judgment yesterday; the Chantry burnt away the minds of its Templars with lyrium, then abandoned them when the lyrium had taken its toll. In many ways, the Chantry had created the monster that stood before him.

"Did you not think you had a duty to those who followed you?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Duty? Of course I did! I had a duty to let them do something of value with their lives before they were snuffed."

"Value? Following Corypheus was of value? You threw their lives away on a worthless cause! And for what? Stronger lyrium?"

"Don't tell me you don't wonder what it feels like. Next to it the blue lyrium is nothing; I wouldn't even be able to feel it any longer."

"Or anything else, either, I imagine," Cullen said more calmly.

"Yeah. Maybe." Samson closed his eyes and a look of bliss came over his ravaged face. "But it was worth it."

Cullen shivered again, remembering the spreading power in his veins, the abilities at his fingertips instead of something he had to work toward, as they were now. To his eternal shame, he still wanted that power as much as ever, craved it. But not enough to risk the costs, he reminded himself. Not enough to have let it beat him.

"You could have stood up against it, given it up, when you first left the Templars. Why didn't you?"

"Give it up?" Samson stared at him, then burst into uproarious laughter. "So that's why you're all high and mighty, because you've given it up?" He looked Cullen over. "I'm surprised you're still standing. Impressive."

"You could have done the same."

"No. I couldn't. And neither could most Templars. You know what happens to most who stop; they're dead in days. Weeks, maybe. Can't get by without it." He looked down at his shaking hands. "Those who followed me would have kept on taking it until there was nothing left of them, and would have been forced to kill and die by the Chantry all the way to their own damnation. You know it as well as I do."

Cullen shook his head. "And how is that different from what you did to them?"

"It isn't. But at least I'm honest about it."

"You were weak, and your leadership was weak. You led them where you wanted to go; you didn't care about them."

"I gave them hope, that something better lay out there. What difference did it make that the hope was a lie? The Chantry gives hope, and that's all lies, every word. So I gave them truth along with the hope—so do you. But I'm weak and you're a savior? Ha!" Samson's lip curled in disgust. "Get out. I've got nothing more to say to you."

He curled up on his cot, face to the wall. Cullen stared at him for a moment, then turned and walked out of the prison. He felt dirty, grimy, but whether it was because of having been near Samson or because of his own complicity with the Chantry or because at some point he might have been able to save this man and hadn't done so, he didn't know. What he did know is that he badly needed to hit something. Right now.


	96. A Few Decisions Different

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_2 Justinian, 9:42_

Antonia was at her desk, in the middle of a letter to King Alistair of Ferelden thanking his troops for their assistance in the battle in the Arbor Wilds, when she heard a familiar light, quick tread on the stairs. She looked up, smiling, to see Dorian's face appear above the half-wall. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Do you know what your beautiful man is doing right now?"

"If he's not sitting in his office scowling at paperwork—and the soldiers who brought it—I couldn't tell you."

"He's out there on the training ground trying to bash himself to pieces against Mount Bull."

Antonia frowned. "I would have hoped to be consulted if we were going to be trading partners." She had to laugh at Dorian's expression in response.

"Please, my dear. Don't put those images in my head. Entirely too ... distracting." He grinned.

She considered the idea, and shrugged. Perhaps it was because she'd never found the Iron Bull an object of particular attraction, despite her affection for him, but the idea of him with Cullen did nothing for her. "So what exactly are they doing?"

"You know the thing where the Iron Bull bashes himself against the nearest target and tries to knock it down?"

Antonia couldn't help wincing; she had been the nearest target once or twice. "And Cullen's the target?"

"He's doing the bashing."

Getting up, she walked to the balcony and looked down. Sure enough, Cullen was in the process of wearing himself out against the very solid bulk of the Iron Bull. "Oh." Suddenly it occurred to her why he was doing that; he must have been to see Samson.

"Should we go make that stop?" Dorian asked, clearly concerned.

"No; I imagine he needs to get it out of his system. Tell Bull I said thank you later, will you?"

"He was happy to do it; he likes Cullen. Likes him even better shirtless."

Antonia grinned. "Don't we all."

"Braggart."

Dorian stayed to tea, and when they had finished Antonia walked him downstairs and then made her way up to Cullen's office, seeing that he was done trying to knock down the Iron Bull. She hoped the exercise had done its work; but as she knocked on the office door she could hear a loud, rhythmic _thunk_ inside. Opening the door on Cullen's invitation, she found him in the act of throwing a knife at a hastily assembled dummy in the corner. More surprising than finding him throwing knives, something she'd never seen him do before, was finding that all the ones he had already thrown were clustered around the heart. She wouldn't have imagined he possessed that particular skill.

"That's new."

He glanced briefly at her, and threw another knife. This one embedded itself square in the dummy's face.

"I really didn't know you could do that. I can't do that."

Cullen grunted, retrieving the knives and starting to throw them again. "I've been to see Samson."

"I assumed as much."

"And I got nothing. Can we pack him off to Kirkwall now?" He threw another knife.

Antonia crossed her arms. "Not yet."

"You said once. I went once."

"And clearly you're satisfied with the outcome," she said, letting the sarcasm drip from her tone.

Cullen turned to glare at her; Antonia raised an eyebrow, refusing to let herself be intimidated. Once having Cullen this angry with her would have made her doubt herself, and her decision—but she was the Inquisitor, and she had made this particular choice with everyone's best interest in mind. She wasn't going to back down from it now, even for him.

"He took everything from those Templars!" More softly, he added, "He corrupted their _souls_, twisted them into everything they stood against. Everything they would have hated."

"You're letting Samson get to you," Antonia pointed out.

"What if I am?" Cullen snapped.

"There's nothing we can do for them now."

"I am well aware of that. So what does coddling that man in our cushy cells get us?"

"It might get us an edge against Corypheus."

"He doesn't know anything."

"You found that out after ten minutes' conversation? Amazing. I'll go tell Leliana to pack up her spy ring because we don't need it anymore." Antonia frowned at him. "Did it occur to you that we could study Samson and see if we can reverse the effects of the red lyrium? I know the Red Templars fight for Corypheus, but I feel sorry for them."

Cullen shook his head, looking down at the floor. "They're barely human now," he muttered. Then, with a resurgence of anger, he said, "The red lyrium left Samson's mind unaltered. He _knew _what he was doing. And he dares speak as though it were a mercy? The man's a monster." His mouth curled in disgust. "If we must keep him, I pray his information is useful. His life is good for little else."

"Think about it, Cullen. If the other Templars are barely human, but Samson's mind is unaltered—why? What's different about him? Perhaps that's the information we need." She hesitated before asking the next question. "You knew Samson, before all this. Don't you feel even a little sympathy for him?"

The denial sprang automatically to his lips, she could see that, then he thought better of it, sighing. "I may have once," Cullen admitted, "but now my sympathies lie with those he betrayed."

"He's going to go the same route; you heard him yesterday. The red lyrium will take him as surely as it has any of the others. He'll be getting what he deserves."

"The men and women he betrayed, they deserve something better. Samson deserves _nothing_," Cullen said savagely. He had put the knives down, at least, which Antonia was glad to see. "The worst of it," he whispered, "is that he thinks he did the right thing, the good thing, the honorable thing." He looked up at her, his eyes stricken. "What if he's right?"

"You know he isn't, Cullen! He twisted hope and lies together and said it was good, but that doesn't make it so."

"He said ..." Cullen turned away from her, bracing his hands on either side of the window. "If things had been different ... I could have been one of them. The Red Templars. If it weren't for what happened to me in Ferelden, I might have followed. Then, after Kirkwall ... just a few decisions different, and I could have led them. They would have followed me."

Antonia came around the corner of the desk toward him. His eyes were far away, seeing visions of things that had never happened.

"Never," she said. "Not possible."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, because I know you. I know that you are too intelligent to follow mindlessly; I know that you would have known the difference between faith and murder, no matter how young or eager to serve you were. I know that if you had a shred of the hunger for power that would have been required to follow Corypheus, to lead people in his name, you could never have given up the lyrium on your own." She leaned her shoulder against the wall next to him. "I know that whatever else you may or may not believe about yourself, you would _never_ lead people who trusted you into a nightmare like Corypheus's."

He turned his head to look at her. "I suppose not." His eyes searched her face. "Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you had not been at the Conclave, if you'd never become the Inquisitor?"

Antonia folded her arms across her chest, leaning back against the wall, and sighed. "You mean, assuming someone else had walked into the room with Corypheus and gotten a big glowing green thing in their hand? Because if that hadn't happened, we'd all be dead now. Or wishing we could be lucky enough to be Red Templars." She frowned at the opposite wall. "Barring that, I assume I'd still be here. Well, not _here_, but down in the barracks with the rest of the volunteers, swinging my greataxe. I couldn't just sit idle."

"No. I don't imagine you could." He smiled. "Still, it's nice to think we would have met anyway."

She cast him a sidelong glance. "You think we would have? I don't. You don't know all the soldiers who serve under you; I'd just be another face in a uniform to you."

Cullen's smile broadened into a grin. "No, you wouldn't. You'd be up here in my office regularly on charges of insubordination."

Antonia couldn't help but chuckle at that, true as it was. "Yes, but I'm sure whoever the other Inquisitor was would have already snapped you up. You wouldn't look at me twice."

Cullen gently took her chin in his hand and turned her head toward him. "You don't really think that, do you?"

"That you're a catch, and whoever that other Inquisitor would be, she'd be crazy to let you get away?"

"That I could be in the same room with you and so much as look at another woman."

"If you didn't know me. If the other Inquisitor was beautiful and poised and experienced and ..."

"Stop. You already are all those things, and you know perfectly well that you are the only Inquisitor for me." He bent toward her.

"Lucky for you, since I'm the only one you've got," Antonia whispered.

Cullen paused, pulling back. "You know that's not true, right?"

"What?"

"I don't love you because you're the Inquisitor." His eyes were serious and direct on hers. "It's because you're you. Antonia Rosamund Trevelyan." He reached out and touched her jacket just above her heart. "Who is always willing to try new things; who listens to everyone's problems and thinks they don't notice that she doesn't share hers in return; who never gives up on someone she cares about; who is impulsive and impatient and competitive and stubborn—"

"You paint quite the attractive picture." Antonia gave him a rueful smile.

"You didn't let me finish."

"At the rate you were going, you were going to talk yourself out of it."

"Never." He was leaning against her now, pressing her back into the wall, and Antonia tilted her head back to look up at him.

"So it wouldn't have mattered to you if I wasn't the Inquisitor?"

"Not in the least."

"Good. Because while I might be able to imagine a life where I hadn't gone to the Conclave, I never want to imagine a life without you."

Cullen smiled. "Agreed."


	97. Children

_Thank you for reading!_

* * *

_4 Justinian, 9:42_

Cullen carefully placed a piece and looked at the young boy who sat across from him. Kieran, Morrigan's son, was a player much like himself; he considered every move until he was certain it was the best choice. Their styles made it a slow-moving game, so there were no spectators. Kieran was a shy lad, anyway, and had made no friends in Skyhold as far as Cullen could tell. Not that there were many children, but there were a few. In Cullen's opinion, the boy would have been better off if he had had someone to play with, but Morrigan clearly preferred to keep him somewhat isolated. And hard at his books, as well.

Kieran moved a piece, his eyes seeking Cullen's as if in approval.

Smiling, Cullen nodded. "That's a good choice."

The boy didn't quite smile back, but there was a faintly pleased look on his face. He reminded Cullen of someone—probably Morrigan, Cullen imagined, but there was something else, a somewhat melancholy cast to the features, the point of his chin … No doubt the nagging resemblance was happenstance and nothing else, but Cullen was reminded strongly of watching Thomas Amell play chess, long ago in the Tower.

"Did you and your mother live in Orlais for a long time?" he asked.

"I … don't know how long. And Mother doesn't like me to answer questions."

That was no surprise. Morrigan played her cards close to her chest. "In that case, is there anything you would like to ask me?"

The question startled the boy. He paused with his piece in midair. "Really?"

"Of course. Ask me anything." An offer Cullen was devoutly hoping he wouldn't regret. For a moment, he imagined himself sitting across a chess table from his own child, teaching him how to play—or her, for that matter—and answering questions, and a glow filled him. To think he had imagined that all the possibilities of home and family, of love and marriage, were long behind him! And now there was Antonia—

"Does the Inquisitor mind that mark on her hand?" Kieran asked abruptly.

Cullen was only slightly surprised, having grown used to Cole and his uncanny ability to read minds and thoughts. He shook his head at the question. "I can't answer on the Inquisitor's behalf. Why don't you ask her sometime?"

"Mother says she is fighting a losing battle."

"Against Corypheus?"

"Against the mark."

Cullen frowned at the board, moving a piece in a calculated risk. "Do you understand what she means? Your mother, that is."

"No." Kieran gave him a shy smile. "I don't, always. Less since she came back from the Arbor Wilds."

Given what Cullen had heard of the events in the Temple of Mythal, he could certainly understand that. Momentarily forgetful of the stricture against questions, he asked, "Do you know what you and your mother will do once Corypheus has been defeated?"

Kieran shook his head. He moved a piece, falling into the trap Cullen had set for him. "I think Mother isn't sure. I wish … I wish we could have a home. The palace was nice, and I like Skyhold." He looked eagerly up at Cullen, anxious not to give offense. "But I want to live somewhere that's just ours."

"Yes. I understand that." Cullen hadn't thought much about that part of the future; he assumed he and Antonia would stay with the Inquisition indefinitely. But someday he, too, would like a home of their own. Maybe once children started arriving, they could settle down somewhere. He took Kieran's piece, putting the boy's king in check.

Kieran moved his king hastily, the surprise of not having anticipated the move throwing him off.

"Are you certain that's the move you want?" Cullen asked.

The boy was by no means certain, that was evident, but he answered with an affronted, "Of course it is."

"All right." Cullen wouldn't insult him further by treating him like a child. If we wanted to stand behind his mistakes—well, that was an important lesson, too. In silence, they each moved again, and then Cullen placed the final piece of the trap. "Check-mate."

Kieran nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry; you made a mistake and fell for a trap. That's part of the game. Next time, you'll know to expect it."

"Yes." Kieran looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "Thank you, Commander."

"My pleasure."

The boy left the table, returning to his mother's quarters off the garden. Cullen busied himself putting the pieces back, musing on the strange child. Any child raised by Morrigan would have to be a little odd, he imagined, but he did hope at some point she allowed Kieran the freedom to mingle with the rest of the world a bit more.

"Did you win?"

He looked up to see Antonia leaning against a pillar of the pavilion. "Yes. I feel badly about it."

She smiled. "I imagine you do. But it's better that you play your best against him. I don't get the impression he would like it if he thought you were treating him as anything less than an intellectual equal."

"Definitely not. I tried to let him take back a move, and he was most offended."

"It's lovely of you to do this for him."

"I enjoy it." He looked up at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention their own children, but he knew with Corypheus looming out there, ever closer, she didn't want to inhabit the future. The present was hard enough for her. He stood up abruptly. "Do you have some time?"

"For you? Always."

"Good. Come with me."

"What are we doing?" Antonia followed him, her brown eyes bright with curiosity.

"Something I've wanted to do for a long time."

She grinned. "Too many people in the keep for sex on the throne."

Cullen whirled around to look at her. "Inquisitor!"

Antonia's grin widened. "Commander."

He coughed slightly, trying to draw his attention away from that most intriguing, and absolutely never going to happen, idea. "Do try to behave yourself."

"I'm sorry. What do you have in mind that is so much more in keeping with the dignity of the leadership of the Inquisition?"

Cullen held her gaze seriously. "We are going to prank Sera back."


	98. Painful for You

_Thank you for reading, all!_

* * *

_5 Justinian, 9:42_

Antonia walked out onto the balcony, bracing her hands on the railing and turning her face up to the sun. There was still a faint bite to the air from the wind that came off the surrounding mountain peaks, but otherwise it was full summer and blissfully warm.

She stood there for a while, just enjoying letting the heat soak into her bones. Much as she loved Skyhold, sometimes she did get tired of being chilly all the time.

Behind her, she heard Cullen come to the open doors of the balcony, and she started to turn toward him.

"Stop. Stand right there, exactly like that."

"Why?"

"Because I want to burn the way you look right now so firmly into my memory that when I'm eighty I'll still be able to see you just like this."

Antonia took a breath and let it out. He had made the remark lightly, so she would take it in the same vein. "You have a low standard for memorable moments if my standing here with my hair all mussed, wearing only a shirt, qualifiies."

Cullen chuckled, coming to stand next to her at the railing. "It's _my_ shirt, for one thing, which makes all the difference. And I happen to know how your hair got mussed the way it is, and I had something to do with that, too." He ruffled her short hair back from her forehead, and Antonia turned to look up at him. "Have you always worn it this way?"

"Since I was eighteen, the same day I stepped back from the marriage market and told my family I was definitely going into the Chantry." She tried to keep her tone noncommittal, but she should have guessed he would hear what lay underneath.

"What happened?"

"It's nothing, really. Just some foolishness."

"I told you about Darinia," he reminded her, adding, "Surana. The elven mage from the tower," when she couldn't place the name.

It was true. He had told her ... everything, and she had told him almost nothing. "I'm sorry; I really don't talk much about my family, do I?"

"No. You don't. And yet you seem to be so open—how do you do that?"

"I think it's because I listen well, so when people talk they think I'm talking, too. It's not something I do consciously." She looked out over the mountains. Cullen reached out to pull her against him, his arms around her waist, and she relaxed against the heat of his body. "You know I was always supposed to go into the Chantry. I didn't mind that, and my parents were pleased that they would have the cachet of having dedicated a child to the service of Andraste."

"So you've said."

"But my siblings all married well—my brother married the daughter of the neighboring bann, so their holdings will double when both fathers pass on; my oldest sister married a very wealthy Antivan merchant; and my other sister married a prominent noble from Tantervale. And when I was sixteen they convinced my parents that I ought to have that chance as well."

"How did you feel about that?" Cullen asked.

"I was in favor. I was young and starry-eyed and thought it would be far more romantic to be swept off my feet than to spend the rest of my life on my knees in front of a statue. So I went along with it enthusiastically, letting them dress me and teach me to dance and parade me around at parties." She twisted her head so she could look up at him. "If I considered that south of me there was a little thing called a Blight happening, it was only for a fleeting moment."

"None of that," he said. "You're hardly the only person to have ignored the Blight, and you had a better excuse than most of those who did. And you're not turning this back around to me; keep on with the story."

"Yes, ser." Antonia smiled, leaning back against him again. "It's really not that interesting, you know."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"I ... failed to make a splash. Few of the other girls found me of any interest at all, so they were happy to cut me out of the running wherever there was a truly eligible young man. I met one gentleman who paid me extravagant compliments and ... well, you know the type. He convinced me that he had intentions, and took me to bed, and when it was over he was off after the next young simpleton he could find." She shrugged. "He wasn't unkind, and it was a pleasant enough experience, but ... it hurt that I'd been such a fool, and I later found out one of the girls who had been friendly to me had set it up with him."

Cullen's arms tightened around her, and he kissed her temple, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

Antonia smiled. "Really, no worse than what many girls go through."

"Will you stop saying that? I'm not judging you, or playing some game to determine if your pain is genuine enough."

"I suppose. But I guess I don't talk about it because I don't think it's a big deal, not compared with—other people."

"Possibly not, but it's clearly painful for you, and I think you should be able to tell me. So that was one of the rats you ran across, but you said there were two."

"I didn't run across the other one. My eldest sister, the one married to the Antivan, introduced me to him. As it turned out, he was an Antivan Crow, and he was feigning an interest in me in order to get closer to my sister's husband. But, not knowing that, my sister introduced us because the Crow had promised certain concessions to her husband's business—she was more or less trying to sell me off."

"Your parents approved all of this?"

"Well, my mother was ill at the time, and she passed away shortly afterward, so my father had left most of this up to my siblings."

"So you were essentially thrown to the wolves on your own?"

Antonia grinned. "It wasn't unlike the Inquisition, really ..." She turned around, putting her arms around his neck. "Or like the Inquisition would have been if you hadn't been here and taken me under your wing."

"But it all still bothers you?" he asked, giving her a look that said he knew she was trying to change the subject again and wasn't having any.

"You know, it's funny, what bothers me most is that none of them seemed to care. To my brother and sisters, I was a commodity to be bartered, not a person, not a sibling. And after—when the Crow talked his way into my room and then tried to kill my sister's husband ... they blamed me, of all things, even though I was the one who eventually stopped him. I can see it being ridiculous now that it bothered me, but at the time—" She shook her head. "I went home to the estate the next day, cut off my hair as some kind of symbolic gesture, and rededicated myself to the Chantry in no uncertain terms."

"And thank the Maker for that." Cullen smiled.

"Yes." She kissed him briefly, then disentangled herself. "I should go get dressed and start my day. Lots to do." Her eyebrow quirked up and she grinned at him. "And you'd better prepare yourself for Sera's retaliation."

Cullen laughed. "No doubt. I'll have to be very careful. Still, you have to admit it was worth it."

Antonia started giggling at the memory. They had stolen all of Sera's clothes and left her with the most ridiculous replacements they could think of. "I can't believe she walked around all day in nothing but the Iron Bull's pants!"

"I can't believe he walked around all day without them. That man has no shame."

"Well, maybe that's a good thing." Antonia couldn't help but grin. "You looked so mortified by him, maybe Sera will think she's already been paid back."

"I should only be so lucky."

"Come to think of it, I should make sure no one has stolen my pants." She looked at him, the smile fading from her face. "I'll have to pack them, after all."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm going to leave day after tomorrow for the Western Approach." She tried not to notice the way he stiffened at the news, the humor leaking out of him, which is why she had been putting off telling him in the first place.

"What's out there?" Cullen asked.

"A dragon. Apparently a dragon fairly similar in size and abilities to the one Corypheus uses; Morrigan suggested that before we go any further, I get some practice in dragon-killing." She grinned. "Should be fun. The Iron Bull will be happy, if nothing else."

Cullen winced. "You know, I want to react to that news by thinking how awesome it is that my woman fights dragons for fun ... but ... I just can't."

"Your woman?" Antonia raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yes, that's the part of that sentence I was hoping you would find most interesting."

"It'll be fine. We learned a few things last time ... like how to duck when a dragon's foot comes at us."

"See that you do." He pulled her against him, kissing her with an intensity that said more than his words how the constant strain and worry for her were affecting him. Antonia clung to him, returning his kiss, pretending that she didn't share that strain and worry, if only for the moment.


	99. Lady Trevelyan

_Thanks very much to everyone reading! I appreciate it very much._

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_12 Justinian, 9:42_

Cullen was in the middle of a pile of dispatches when Wills, one of the gate guards, came bursting through his door. "Commander!"

"What is it, Wills?"

"There's a man at the gates—he's a noble, with a retinue."

"Have you informed Ambassador Montilyet of his arrival?"

"No—he said he wanted to speak to the man in charge."

"What does that mean?" Cullen asked, annoyed. This was Josephine's bailiwick; why was he being bothered with some petty noble?

"I asked if he was here to see the Inquisitor, or the Ambassador, and he said he wanted to see 'the man in charge'. Seemed to think it was very important that he talk to a man. So I thought …" Wills trailed off, looking at Cullen with a puppylike eagerness.

Cullen sighed. Wills wasn't blessed with an overabundance of brains, but in this case Cullen was hard put to see what else the boy could have done. "Very well," he said. "I'll come down with you and see what he wants."

"Oh! Well, you see, ser, I've put him in the nobles' guest quarters. The big ones."

Josephine was not going to like that. Placement of guests was her special province, and she very much disliked having other people meddling with it.

From the guilty look on Wills' face, the man knew he had erred. "He had a retinue, ser! And he just … stood there, staring at me, expecting me to … carry his bags, or some such thing."

"All right. I'll go over to the keep and see this person; you will go to Ambassador Montilyet and explain to her what you've done." That was punishment enough for anyone; Josephine would relent eventually, but she'd give the boy a bad enough ten minutes to teach him not to take responsibilities onto himself that belonged to those higher up.

Cullen knocked on the door of the guest suite—the very good one, kept for only the most special visitors.

"Enter!" came an imperious voice from inside. Cullen was met at the door by a slender man, a few inches shorter and a few years older than he was. "You are the man in charge?"

"I am the Commander of the armies of the Inquisition."

"But you are, in fact, in charge?"

"Perhaps if you could tell me the purpose of your visit, I could assist you more fully."

"Good man. Right to business. I approve."

Cullen frowned. Something about that phrasing reminded him of someone.

The noble continued, "I am here because you people of the Inquisition have my sister. I have come to bring her home."

Oh, that was just what they needed. To be accused by some nobleman of having kidnapped, or corrupted, or worse, his relative. "I see," he said. "And you are, Serah?"

"Lord Edwin Trevelyan the fourth."

Cullen blinked, trying to maintain his composure. This was Antonia's brother? No, surely not—why would the Inquisitor's brother think she was here against her will, or in need of being brought home? Hoping that by some chance they had another young noblewoman named Trevelyan in the Inquisition, he asked, "And your sister's name?"

Seeming surprised that his name hadn't garnered more response, Lord Edwin said, "Lady Antonia Trevelyan. A young woman of very tender years and some inexperience with the ways of the world. It is my understanding that she was injured in some way during the time of the Conclave and while recovering took a minor role within the Inquisition."

Was it possible Antonia had never actually written her family about what she did for the Inquisition? Cullen fervently wished she was not off fighting dragons just now, because he found this whole situation very confusing and was afraid anything he might say would be the wrong thing.

Lord Edwin lowered his voice, stepping closer to Cullen. "Man to man, I fear there is some additional cause for concern—we understand she may have formed a rather disastrous mesalliance with a Fereldan turnip … er…" He looked Cullen up and down, apparently correctly identified his country of origin, and hastily altered his wording. "A Fereldan rustic."

Infinitely grateful for the years spent remaining stoic and reactionless in front of his Templar superiors, Cullen managed a mild "You don't say" in response.

"Yes. My sources tell me that they were seen dancing together, alone, on the balcony of the Winter Palace."

"Shocking." Cullen cleared his throat. "I am afraid An—Lady Trevelyan is not currently in residence at Skyhold, but we expect her back within the next day or two." _The sooner the better_, he thought.

"Really?" Lord Edwin raised his eyebrows. "I would not have imagined her suited to work outside of Skyhold. I rather thought she would be performing some type of clerical function."

"Out of curiosity, serah, when was the last time you saw your sister?"

"Hm." Antonia's brother frowned. "This is 42 … perhaps 37? 36? I can't imagine she has changed much."

"Indeed. Lady Trevelyan's skill as a swordswoman has been much prized by the Inquisition, I assure you."

"You have the daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick working as a common soldier?"

"Oh, no! No, she's more of an … independent team leader. She has her own team and works very much on her own. Unsupervised." It occurred to Cullen that whatever was going on here, it was too good not to share with someone else, and he cast about for which of the companions would be most suitable. Cassandra would probably soothe Lord Edwin the best, given her familial connections, but she would also spill the beans, forcefully. If Antonia hadn't already informed her family of the truth of her situation, Cullen didn't feel it was appropriate for him to do so—and if there was something greater going on, he didn't want to cause her any problems. He would prefer to play along with her brother until she returned, assuming he could keep his temper.

Varric might be a good choice, but not necessarily from the perspective of Lord Edwin. Dorian, on the other hand—Dorian would be perfect. "If you'll excuse me, I believe one of her team members is here in Skyhold, perhaps he can tell you more."

"By all means. I will have my people unpack. Perhaps you could have a suitable meal served in these … rooms?" Lord Edwin looked around the luxurious accommodations with a resigned expression as though they were barely habitable.

"Of course." Cullen shut the door behind him, breathing a sigh of relief. If it hadn't been for the fact that she was off fighting dragons with his ring firmly on her finger, he might have found it concerning that her brother didn't know who he was; but then again, her brother quite evidently didn't know who she was, either. He dropped into Josephine's office. "Has Wills been here?"

"Yes. I gave him a piece of my mind."

"Perhaps we owe him an apology. Do you know who our distinguished visitor is?" When Josephine shook her head, he said, "Lord Edwin Trevelyan, the fourth." He stressed the surname.

"The Inquisitor's brother? Why didn't she tell us he was coming?"

"I'm guessing she didn't know. He told me he came to bring his sister home—he seems to think she serves in some minor clerical position."

"What did he say when you told him?"

"I didn't."

Josephine stared at him, shocked. "Why not?"

"Well … I thought if she hadn't told her family, it wasn't my place."

"If not yours, then whose?"

"Who, me? Surely you jest. I did not offer to locate the 'Fereldan turnip' she's formed a 'mesalliance' with, either." He raised an eyebrow at Josephine, who groaned.

"He certainly seems to have had a lot to say."

"Yes. I found it safest—and incidentally, more entertaining—to say as little as possible. He would like a meal sent up; apparently he feels it would be beneath him to rub elbows with us Inquisition people." More seriously, Cullen added, "I do think that whatever his misconceptions are, it would be best to wait for Antonia to return rather than attempt to enlighten him ourselves. Please see to it that no one feels the need to set him straight."

"Of course. I believe your approach is the right one."

"I'm going to get Dorian; I promised Lord Edwin he could talk to one of her team."

Josephine grinned. "You are planning to wring as much entertainment out of this situation as possible, aren't you?"

"I fail to see what other choice I have."

She raised her eyebrows. "The Cullen I met when we began this would have thrown him out of Skyhold."

He smiled. "Perhaps so. Good riddance to that surly bastard, wouldn't you say?"

"Even now, I would not have gone that far." Josephine's laughter followed him as he left her office and went in search of Dorian.

The mage was in the library, as he so often was, deep in the midst of a pile of books on elven and Tevinter history. "Dorian, are you busy right at the moment?"

"Cullen! Time for our chess game? I'm sorry, I'm losing track of time rather often these days. I'm trying to reconcile what Abelas said with what I know—or have been told—of the Tevinter war with the elves."

"I'm sorry to drag you away from that, but I have a rather … unusual situation that could use your expertise."

"Mine? How interesting."

Cullen filled him in briefly on Antonia's brother's misconceptions, and Dorian laughed uproariously.

"That is priceless. The Inquisitor's brother demanding that he be allowed to drag her home. I cannot wait to see what she has to say when she returns." An expression of concern crossed his face, and Cullen knew they were both thinking the same thing—of the injuries she and the Iron Bull had come home with the last time they fought a dragon.

"May it be soon," Cullen said, and Dorian nodded.

They went together back to the nobles' quarters, where Lord Edwin looked Dorian over with some satisfaction. Here was clearly no Fereldan rustic.

"Dorian Pavus, of House Pavus of the Tevinter Imperium, at your service."

"Lord Pavus, what an honor."

"Please. Here in the Inquisition, we are a bit less formal. Just Dorian will do."

"And you work with my sister? Lady Antonia?"

"I do. We have had many entertaining adventures together."

"You surprise me, serah," Lord Edwin said. "I would not have thought of my sister as the adventuring type. She has always been more bookish. We rather despaired of her until she found her place in the Chantry. Of course, we attempted to find her a suitable husband, but our choices for her were—not to her taste."

Remembering the stories she had told him about that time in her life, Cullen was hard put to keep his mouth shut, and from the glance Dorian shot him, the mage knew it.

"A shame she couldn't be so easily satisfied with pure-blooded Marcher stock," Dorian agreed politely.

"Do you know this … Fereldan she has been seen with?"

"I have met him once or twice. Quite good-looking, but with truly unfortunate taste in clothes. Still, what can you expect from a Fereldan?"

Cullen bit his tongue, refusing to be baited. Besides, given how much time the mage spent complaining that he was cold, it seemed most likely that he was envious of the fur collar.

"Just as I feared," Lord Edwin said. "Perhaps you can assist me in talking some sense into her when she returns. Can we not send a messenger to hurry her on her way?"

"I'm afraid not. The … negotiations in process are rather delicate. But it will certainly be my great pleasure to be present at the interview between the two of you when she arrives." Dorian turned to look at Cullen, a wicked sparkle in his eyes. "And I am certain it will be the Commander's great pleasure, as well, won't it, Commander?"

"Of course."

"Well, you both have my thanks."


	100. Imagine My Surprise

_Hundredth chapter! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story - you're a remarkable gift. I hope this weekend brings you something to celebrate, holiday-related or otherwise! _

* * *

_14 Justinian, 9:42_

As they rode in through the gates of Skyhold, Antonia and the Iron Bull were singing a bawdy song at the top of their lungs. Neither of them could carry a tune in a bucket, but they were enjoying themselves hugely. They had even persuaded Cole to join in, although he seemed uncertain about what the words meant.

Dismounting, Antonia looked around for Cullen, but saw no sign of him. Instead, Josephine came hurrying down the steps from the upper courtyard. "Oh, Inquisitor, you're back! Thank goodness. Perhaps you would come with me."

"Of course. Is there something wrong?" A sudden thought struck fear into her, and she grabbed Josephine's arm. "Is— Has anything happened to Cullen?"

"What? No! No, of course not."

"You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, my friend. It's nothing like that. We have a visitor in Skyhold who has been most anxious to see you, and we have arranged to have him meet you in your quarters in a few minutes. Cullen will explain."

Antonia frowned. "This is very mysterious." She gave a sidelong look at Josephine, hurrying along at the Antivan's side. "Am I going to like this?"

"That is part of the mystery. None of us are willing to venture a guess."

"So that would be a no, then."

"I wouldn't imagine so," Josephine admitted.

"Do I have time to change?"

"You can ask Cullen. He is waiting upstairs."

Antonia decided to stop asking questions, following Josephine through the main hall. At the door to her quarters, Josephine stopped, her eyes twinkling. "I will meet you up there shortly."

"Still not going to explain?"

Josephine shook her head and hurried off. Antonia opened her door and went around the platform to the stairs. "Cullen?" she called, hurrying up them.

"There you are." He looked up from her desk, smiling, and she stifled her irritation that he was using her space. First item of business for sharing her quarters, they were putting in another desk for him.

"Josephine was very mysterious. Do you want to explain more?"

"Not really. Mostly what I want is—" He crossed the room to her, taking her face in his hands and kissing her hungrily. He pulled back to look her over. "That's all dragon's blood on your armor, right?"

"Every drop. We did much better this time—no kicking, no new scars. Lots more dragonbone being shipped back to Skyhold."

"Good." He pressed his forehead against hers. "I confess, I was worried."

"You? Worried? No, not really," Antonia scoffed, but she couldn't help smiling. Looking around the room, she frowned. "This looks awfully neat. When I left, your things were still all over the place. Rather messily for an ex-Templar, I must say."

"Roya outdid herself. We wanted to make sure everything was very clean for our guest."

"Who is this mystery guest? And why can't I change?"

"You'll see. On both counts. Also, just so you know, I did not say anything."

"What does that mean?" Antonia asked, thoroughly frustrated.

For answer, Cullen kissed her again. It had been long enough that things heated up quickly—or they would have, had Josephine's light knock not been heard at the bottom of the stairs.

"Ah. Here we go," Cullen said. He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, smiling in a way Antonia didn't quite understand, and then retreated across the room, standing at attention near the balcony doors.

Josephine came up, and with her Dorian and another man who looked very familiar. Antonia frowned, then smiled in puzzled surprise. "Edwin?"

His face had gone through a similar series of expressions. "Antonia, my dear." He came closer, reaching to kiss her on the cheek, then recoiled. "What is this substance all over you? And what are you wearing?"

"It's armor, and it's covered with dragon's blood," she said, displeased. She couldn't help contrasting this meeting with the way Cullen and his family had reacted to being together—and they hadn't seen each other in more than twenty years.

"Dragon's blood?" Edwin looked her up and down. "I see I have come at the right time. We have our work cut out for us if we're going to find you a suitable husband."

"Husband?" She frowned again, looking around the room. Dorian was smirking, Josephine watching the situation with an eye to how the Inquisition could profit from it, and Cullen was impassive, but she could see the irritation rising in him. "I thought we'd been over that ten years ago, and determined I'm not a suitable candidate for a noble marriage."

"Perhaps. But ... father and I are concerned about your involvement in this ... Inquisition, and we would find it preferable if you came home."

"Came home? I can't leave the Inquisition."

"Please, sister. It isn't as though it would fall apart without you."

Antonia looked around the room. "None of you told him?"

"We didn't think he would believe us," Josephine said. Cullen raised an eyebrow, and Dorian bit back a laugh.

"Edwin, I'm the Inquisitor. I can't leave!"

"You? The Inquisitor?" He looked confused. "Father said you had some clerical position."

"Does Father read his own letters, or does whichever secretary writes his in return read them to him?" Antonia sighed. "Never mind. No doubt it's the second. Tell me, which secretary is it lying to him about the content of my letters—the one he's sleeping with, or the one who's been hired by Bann Gorman to spy on him?"

Edwin's jaw dropped. "How did you know?"

"Father should read his outgoing mail; also, I've been trained by our spymaster and our ambassador here to read between the lines." She looked at him thoughtfully.

"I suspect it would be the one who is spying on him," Josephine said. "The one who is sleeping with him would not be in such a hurry for your return."

"Probably."

Edwin looked around at all of them. "You ... really are the Inquisitor?"

Antonia ripped her glove off and showed him the Anchor. "This is what I came away from the Conclave with. It closes the rifts in the Fade that have appeared in the sky all over Ferelden and Orlais, and it means I am the only one who can defeat the ultimate enemy, who is trying to open a permanent breach into the Fade."

"So ... you are not coming home?"

"No."

"But ... what of this ... There is another matter."

"Is there? When you charged into my home and assumed I was going to meekly be brought back to Ostwick, you had more reasons than simply your belief that I wasn't being used to my full potential? Imagine my surprise."

Edwin's mouth pinched. "There is no need to be sarcastic, Antonia. The family is very concerned about some of your choices." He picked up her left hand, gingerly, now that the glove was off it. "Is that an ... engagement ring?"

"It is."

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cullen cross his arms over his chest, the impassiveness of his visage replaced with a set expression she knew was the precursor to a scowl. Now she understood what he had meant when he said he hadn't said anything.

"We have heard that you made a most unsuitable match. With a ... Fereldan."

"What business is it of yours?" she snapped. "You know what, we're not doing this. Dorian, Josephine, please leave us."

They did so, not without backward glances—amused on Dorian's part, concerned on Josephine's.

"Antonia, perhaps you haven't noticed we aren't alone," Edwin said, nodding in Cullen's direction.

"I can see introductions need to be made. Edwin Trevelyan ..."

"Cullen Rutherford. Fereldan rustic," Cullen said flatly.

Antonia wasn't sure what that meant, but Edwin understood. His face paled, and then he scowled at Cullen. "You could have said something."

"It wasn't my place. If Antonia hadn't already spoken to you, I was certain she had her reasons."

"Thank you, my love. Edwin, why don't you take a seat, and let's start from the beginning."

He sat on the couch she indicated, but he was still frowning. "You are entirely too young to be making these decisions for yourself."

"Exactly how old do you think I am?" she asked him.

"22? 23?"

"I'm 27. Also, I'm the Inquisitor. I wield power in Thedas that makes Father's holdings look like a hovel in the Anderfels. I do not need permission from anyone, not for any reason." She glanced at Cullen with a small smile. "Although occasionally advice is useful."

"You say that now," he said. His posture had relaxed a little now that everything was out in the open.

Edwin shook his head. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"I did! I wrote to Father after the Conclave to tell him that I had been taken on with the Inquisition and all about this Herald of Andraste business, and then after Haven to tell him I was all right and about being named Inquisitor, and several times since. It's not my fault that he didn't read the letters himself, or didn't pay attention to what was in them."

"And ... about this?" He looked between her and Cullen with a displeased expression.

"No, you're right. I didn't bother to write you about Cullen, because I thought there was a good chance that my falling in love with someone who can't advance your standing in the Free Marches would be more important to you than my becoming the head of the most powerful organization in Thedas. I see that I was right. How did you find out, may I ask?"

"You were seen dancing together at the Winter Palace."

"Oh, and we were trying to be so careful there. Leliana will be so disappointed in us," she said, shaking her head in Cullen's direction. He shrugged.

With a frown, Edwin asked, "Have you considered this carefully?"

"I've considered the only thing that matters, which is that I love Cullen and want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him. All of your alliances and power matches and careful negotiations have nothing to do with me."

"But my dear! With your position, you could have anyone you wanted!"

"That concept has been pointed out to me once or twice." She grinned at Cullen.

"King Alistair of Ferelden is widowed; surely if you must ally yourself with this backwater of a country you could set your sights—"

"Edwin. This is none of your business. You all had your shot. Remember young Lord Destrier? And of course Reynaldo, the Antivan merchant who turned out to be a Crow."

"You cannot blame those on us!"

"I blame Reynaldo on Araminta, who was so eager to get his business concessions she didn't bother to check his background," Antonia snapped.

"Araminta?" Cullen asked.

"My eldest sister."

Edwin looked at Cullen appraisingly. "And you—I take it your father was a woodcutter."

"Farmer."

"Same difference." Edwin's lip curled. "And you have no prospects?"

"Well, I am Commander of the Inquisition, and that seems to be going rather well."

"And after that?"

"Edwin!" Antonia interjected. "I don't think you understand. This is none of your concern. When we have resolved this issue with Corypheus, you will all be invited to the wedding. It will be your decision whether you want to attend or not. In the meantime, either paste a pleasant smile on your face and spend a few minutes getting to know me and my future husband, or please leave so I can take a bath and wash the dragon's blood off."

Her brother considered those options for a moment. "You are very much like Annabella, did you know that? Both of you quite stubborn. I'm told you get that from Mother."

Antonia said, "That's nice to know. How is Annabella?"

Sighing, Edwin sat gingerly farther back on the couch, and answered the question.

Two days later, Antonia saw her brother and his retinue off, bright and early in the morning.

"You are certain there is nothing I can suggest that will bring you back home?"

"This is my home. It's where I belong. Perhaps after we save the world Cullen and I will visit Ostwick, however."

"You needn't exaggerate, Antonia," Edwin said reprovingly. She wasn't certain which part he thought was the exaggeration—saving the world, or the idea of bringing her Fereldan to mingle with her family's friends.

"Take care," she said, giving up. She waved as he went through the gates, then turned to Cullen, who had come down after Edwin was safely on his horse and on his way out. "So, that's my brother. What do you think?"

For a response, Cullen put his arms around her, picking her up off the ground and holding her tightly. Putting her down, he said, "How did someone as sensible and intelligent as you come from ... that?"

Antonia smiled. "He's not that bad. He just lives in a very small box, and thinks of everything in terms of how it will affect his standing, and by extension the family's, within the Free Marches. He's never had to think about the bigger picture, so he doesn't." She reached for Cullen's hand. "You weren't upset that I hadn't written them about you, were you?"

"Once it was clear he didn't know you were the Inquisitor, I took everything else with a grain of salt."

"I promise when we're married, we won't see much of them. What?" she asked when Cullen stared at her in surprise.

"You said 'when'," he said in a soft voice.

"Oh." Antonia swallowed. She didn't want to rehash old arguments—by the light in his eyes, he saw her casual use of the word as a big step forward, and she wasn't about to tell him that she saw it as a bad sign that she'd taken her eyes off the dangers ahead.

"You make me feel like the luckiest Fereldan rustic in Thedas, do you know that?" Cullen asked.

"How about we go upstairs and I make you feel even luckier still?"

Cullen grinned. "There you go again, being impossible to say no to."


	101. Faith

_Dear readers - thank you so much for sticking with this story so far, and for the enthusiasm you've shared with me by favoriting, following, and reviewing. I really appreciate it! _

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_17 Justinian, 9:42_

Antonia was used to waking up in the middle of the night to Cullen's nightmares by now; but waking up entirely alone was unusual. She looked around the room in the moonlight streaming in the open balcony doors, but he was clearly not there. Both dogs were stretched out at the top of the stairs, muzzles resting on their paws, looking down toward the door.

She got out of bed and threw her clothes on, trying to decide where to look for him first. He had seemed withdrawn all day, distracted, and she wasn't going to risk the possibility that this was the lyrium flaring up again. They were too close to the final battle against Corypheus to take any chances with Cullen's health and sanity.

Downstairs, the main hall was deserted. Of the most likely options, the Chantry was closest—he liked to go there in the middle of the night when he could be reasonably sure of being alone.

Sure enough, the door to the Chantry was slightly ajar, and she could hear his familiar voice reciting the Chant inside.

"Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond. For there is no darkness in the Maker's light, and nothing that he has wrought shall be lost."

Antonia slipped inside as quietly as she could, not wanting to disturb him, but the hinges of the door squeaked, and he looked around, seeming unsurprised to see her.

"Seeking comfort in prayer?" she asked softly.

"Seeking Andraste's blessing for those we have lost." He looked away from her, his voice dropping. "And those I am afraid to lose."

Knowing how he struggled with his fears, she didn't press him on that. Instead, she said, "I'm glad you haven't lost your faith."

Cullen nodded, looking back up at Andraste, his hands clasped firmly before him as he knelt there. "I've questioned it at times, certainly, but I've found comfort in faith when my life offered little." He stood up, turning to her. "We must draw our strength wherever we can. Corypheus will retaliate against you; it's only a matter of time. You've foiled every one of his plots, and ... When the time comes, you will be where his path leads. Andraste preserve me," he said, his voice breaking, "I must send you to him." He closed his eyes.

She had meant to comfort him, but her own fears were so near the surface that the words came out before she thought. "What if I can't ... Cullen, if I don't ..."

Reaching out, he traced his fingers across her cheek. "Maker, no. The thought of losing you ..."

Antonia pressed her lips together. He was going to make her cry if he kept this up. "Cullen, don't do this to yourself. Or me. It's going to be hard enough— But if we pretend that there's no chance of the worst coming to pass ..."

He put his fingers over her lips. "You must allow me this, love. To believe anything else ... I can't." Cullen shook his head. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I meant to give all that was in me to the Inquisition, to atone for what I had become after the Circle, but there you were, everything I had ever dreamed of and more, and so unexpectedly and unbelievably mine, and I couldn't ..."

"You're not damaging the Inquisition by being with me."

Cullen took her face in his hands. "Don't you see? You are everything to me. If it were a choice between you and the Inquisition—" He couldn't complete the sentence, his throat working with the force of his emotion.

Antonia reached for his hands, clasping them in her own. "You would choose the Inquisition. As I would. As we both have several times over. Don't sell yourself short."

He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against hers. "You are the strongest person I have ever known."

"You should look in the mirror more often, then. You might falter in the dark of night, but in the light of day—Cullen, my strength comes from you." She disentangled from him long enough to dig in her pocket and bring out Jared's coin. "And my luck. So there's nothing to worry about." She smiled at him.

Cullen mustered a smile in return. "That's less comforting than I'd hoped."

Over his shoulder, Antonia met the stone eyes of Andraste. "You know," she said softly, "here we are in the Chantry, both of us professing to be believers, and we seem to have forgotten the promises of the Maker—that we'll meet again at His side. I think we've both done more than enough in His service to warrant that certainty." She smiled again. "If I get there first, I promise, I'll save you the seat right next to me."

That got a soft chuckle, at least, which Antonia was relieved to hear. "I suppose that's something." The smile faded, his voice roughening. "But ... not enough, may the Maker forgive me."

Antonia placed her hand along the side of his face, rubbing his cheek with her thumb. "You can't see anything but despair right now, can you?"

"No." He pulled her into his arms, pressing his face into the junction between her neck and shoulder. She could feel him trembling against her, feel the powerful sway fear held over him here in the deep dark of the night. "Whatever happens, you _will _come back. You have to."

She held him as tightly as she could, her face buried in the fur of his collar. "Is that an order, Commander?"

He didn't laugh, as she had hoped he might, but some of the tension in him eased. "No, but as one of your advisors, I strongly recommend it."

"If you say so." They stood there for a long time before Antonia disentangled herself. "Come on."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to bed; we'll see if we can't take your mind off your troubles."

"You have your work cut out for you."

She grinned at him. "I like a challenge."

With a last glance at Andraste, silent and still, she led him out of the Chantry.


	102. The Orphans of the Inquisition

_Happy New Year! So glad to be ringing it in with all of you, and with these characters. Thank you so much for reading!_

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_17 Justinian, 9:41_

Morning found Cullen determined not to give way to his fears like that again—at least, not in Antonia's presence, certainly. She had enough to worry about without having to talk him back to strength and sanity in the middle of the night.

He left her sleeping, not without a backward glance at her lovely face. The temptation to rejoin her in the bed was strong, just to lie there and hold her for as long as he could ... but the fears and the shadows within him wouldn't let him lie there quietly. He needed to hit something.

The Iron Bull was already in the training ring as Cullen came out of the keep. He smiled at the big Qunari as he came closer. "How did you know?"

"That the closer we get to Corypheus the more you need something to fight? That one's not hard."

"No, I suppose not." He hesitated for a moment, and the Iron Bull's one eye scrutinized him closely.

"We fighting or talking this morning?"

"Let's start with fighting." Maybe once he was thoroughly worn out he could put his thoughts into words that would make sense.

The Iron Bull set himself, shield up, and Cullen attacked with all his strength. After an hour, he still hadn't managed to budge the Iron Bull more than a couple of inches, and those had been hard-won. The Qunari looked at him with respect, nonetheless. "Not many people can push me around, even a little. You feeling better?"

"Some."

"Good. Let's go get an ale."

For once, Cullen didn't worry about the thousand things he had to do. Corypheus was coming, which made any work other than training the Inquisitor seem almost unnecessary—and certainly impossible to concentrate on. "Good idea."

They took their ales to the Iron Bull's room, which was surprisingly neat. "You should have been a Templar," Cullen said, looking around.

The Iron Bull gave a half-smile. "Ben-Hassrath. You keep your things put away or you reveal entirely too much about yourself. Besides ..." The smile widened. "It gives Dorian something to do."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the details of their relationship, and the almost challenging look on the Iron Bull's face confirmed him in that suspicion. "You two are very special to Antonia."

"Mutual. She's done a lot of good work for a lot of people. Us included."

"She worries about you; less so than before you got together." Cullen found the whole experience of sitting here discussing relationships with a Qunari mercenary odd, but decidedly pleasant. For one of the first times in his life, he felt normal.

"Yeah, that took some time. Not that you have any room to talk." The Qunari fixed him with a look from that single eye.

"No. But you two are ... Well, I wouldn't pry, but—" He couldn't quite explain why he wanted to know.

"We're fine. If he insists on going to Tevinter and telling that elf story, the Chargers and I will go with him, whatever it takes, but I hope he won't. Tell the boss if she can keep him here ... Well, that's a problem for another day, isn't it?"

"I tend to forget that Dorian is a man without a country, so to speak."

The Iron Bull chuckled. "The orphans of the Inquisition. He's left Tevinter, I've left the Qun, you've left the Templars, Cassandra's left the Seekers, Varric's left the dwarves ... Cole's left the spirit world." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "Still not used to that guy. Blackwall's left the Wardens, or the Orlesian army, however you want to put that. Solas—that elf has left something, but what, it's hard to say. Sera's left her sanity, Leliana herself, Josephine her fancy parties. Vivienne's the only one with something to go home to."

Cullen frowned. "I suppose I hadn't thought of it that way. How do you feel about leaving the Qun?"

"How do you feel about leaving the Templars?" The Iron Bull shrugged. "I did it on purpose; the Chargers mattered to me more than the Ben-Hassrath, in the end. Doesn't mean I don't miss it, sometimes, that certainty of knowing who I was and what my role was. Don't you find that?"

"Yes." Cullen nodded. "There was a comfort in the sameness of the days, the rituals involved, the knowledge that we were doing what was right. But ... we weren't, either, and so the comfort was illusory."

"I guess I get that. Yeah."

"This is better; more to do, more ... challenges."

"So you don't regret it?"

"Leaving the Templars? No. Do you?"

The Qunari grunted. "It's hard to give up a lifetime of thinking one way and learn to think another—to put people above place, emotion and thought above duty. But—" He looked down into his empty mug. "I look at Dorian, at everything he's capable of, not just with magic but his intelligence and his drive, and I know what my people would do to him, chaining him up and forcing him to be only one of the things he is, and I wonder—is that what we do to everyone, forcing them into one box, telling them to be only one thing? I mean, I'm good at hitting things, and I like it, yeah, but I'm good at people, too, knowing what they need and what they're thinking. The Ben-Hassrath allowed me to use both of those things, but in Par Vollen it wouldn't have been that way so much. So ... no. I don't regret it. I'd rather be here than part of the Qun."

"I'm glad to hear it. We'd rather have you here, too." Cullen smiled at his friend.

"And for what it's worth ... we haven't made a pact, or anything, but—you can count on us. Whoever's with her against Corypheus ... the boss is the top priority. We'll bring her back if there's any chance at all. No matter what it costs." The Iron Bull's eye was directly on Cullen's now, and there was no mistaking his sincerity or his determination.

"Thank you, Bull. It means ... everything."


	103. If I Fall

_Thanks for reading, everyone! I think I'm mostly caught up on review replies after FF's issues this past week - I promise to catch up completely soon. There's really nothing like the feeling of seeing those reviews come in my inbox and getting to talk about the story and the process of writing it with you. _

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_17 Justinian, 9:41_

Antonia hadn't been able to get last night's discussion with Cullen out of her mind; his fear, and the continued silence from Corypheus, had her on edge and grappling with her own fears.

She tried to go about a normal day, but there was no question she was distracted. By the time the War Room meeting came around, she was holding on to her nerves by a thread.

Cullen seemed to be feeling somewhat better, but Leliana and Josephine both showed the same strain Antonia was feeling.

"Where is he?" Josephine asked. "Why haven't we found him?"

Leliana and Cullen both frowned. "We have men hunting for him across half of Thedas," Cullen said. "Which means we're stretched fairly thin here at Skyhold, but if he comes here, we should have a fair amount of warning."

"Before we find him," Antonia said, "there's something I need to know, something I need to ask all of you. We have talked so many times about my standing against him, about my attempting to defeat him, about the Anchor and about the many times I've—we've thwarted his plans already. But ... if I can't defeat him, if I fall in the attempt—"

"No!" Cullen burst out.

"Cullen, I have to know. What happens to Thedas if I can't win, who steps up to take my place? Or is there no one?"

"Antonia, don't do this to yourself."

"Don't you understand?" she said to them, looking at the three—Cullen angry, struggling with his own fears; Josephine distressed, lacking a response; Leliana stony-faced. "I need to know that if I fall it's not the end."

They looked at each other, these three people who had formed an Inquisition from a muddy campsite, and then Cullen turned to her, his arm crossed over his chest.

"Antonia, if you—if you lose your life to Corypheus, it will be the goal of every breath of the rest of mine to see to it that he loses his. I swear it."

"And mine," Leliana said.

"And mine." Josephine looked at the others, less certain, but willing to go along with what they said. "One way or another, the Inquisition will prevail in your name, my friend, if it is at all possible."

Antonia would have been happier without the qualification, without the doubt she saw in their eyes, their faces, their postures, which told her clearly that on her shoulders lay the future of Thedas, even if their words bravely told another story. "Very well," she said, sighing. "Thank you for that. It helps."

Cullen turned from them all and walked to the window, looking out.

"Morrigan tells me that she has found a way to neutralize Corypheus's dragon," Leliana said.

"Has she told you how?" Antonia asked.

"No, and I did not ask. Her mother could turn into a dragon—perhaps Morrigan's newfound knowledge includes such a shape. When I knew her during the Blight she could become a bear or a spider, so it is not outside the realm of possibility."

"Well, that must be nice. I wouldn't mind being able to turn into a dragon," Antonia said, and then she cried out as the Anchor suddenly burned in her hand, sending sparks of searing fire along her nerve endings. She almost expected to see her skin smoke and blacken.

Outside, the sky glowed green as the Breach opened up in it once more.

"I take it we know where Corypheus is," Josephine said softly into the silence that had fallen on the room.

"Haven again," Leliana whispered. "Maker help us."

"Haven." Cullen's voice was hoarse, the word heavy with the memory of what had almost happened there the last time. He turned from the window toward Antonia, who was cradling her hand against her chest. His voice cracked as he spoke. "I have so few troops to send with you—they are all off looking for him. We should have known."

"It's all right, Cullen," Antonia said, assuring him if not herself.

"No, it's not. I promised you an army!"

Antonia straightened her shoulders, needing to be strong, because Cullen was on the edge of a breakdown. "You gave me an army. With that army, we've systematically stripped Corypheus of every extra piece of power he has. He has no army, no demons—all he has is himself and a dragon. Your army has done what it was meant to do." In many ways it was a relief that this day had finally arrived. "And now I must do what I am meant to do."

He nodded, unable to trust his voice.

"Get my companions, please. All of them," Antonia said to the advisors. "And someone tell Morrigan that whatever her plans are, she'd better be ready. I'm going to go get my armor on; time is of the essence."

And she hurried from the room, glad to have something to do, at last. One way or another, it wouldn't be much longer now.


	104. Let That Thing Hear You

_Thanks for reading!  
_

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_17 Justinian, 9:41_

Antonia ran from the War Room. Probably the few extra moments she gained in her hurry didn't matter—they still had to get down the road from Skyhold, after all—but they made her feel better. In the main keep, people were distressed, everyone rushing around with no obvious goal in mind. She caught sight of Varric coming toward her.

"Herald—what do you do on days the sky turns green?" he asked lightly, but she could see the seriousness in him.

"I kill things, Varric," she said. "Go get the others, all of them. We're taking Corypheus down today." _Or die trying,_ she thought, but absolutely no one needed to hear her voice that thought aloud, herself included.

Behind her, Cullen was the second one out the door, barking orders to every soldier he could see. Leliana slipped out after him, and she hurried to the door to the gardens, heading for Morrigan. Josephine was the last one out, and it looked like she was heading for the tavern, where most of the companions would be at this hour of the day.

"Josephine!" Antonia called after her. When the Ambassador turned to look at her, she said, "Let Varric get the companions; go down to the stables, get all the horses ready to go. We'll need to move as fast as possible."

"Right, Inquisitor." Josephine hesitated. "Maker go with you, my friend."

"Thank you, Josie. For everything."

They looked at one another for a moment, then turned and ran off in their separate directions. Antonia hurried upstairs, throwing off her clothes hastily and searching for her armor. She couldn't help pausing to look around. Cullen's pajama pants were thrown across the foot of the bed, her robe lay crumpled on the floor next to it, evidence of the speed with which both had been removed this morning, and the covers were rumpled from the subsequent love-making. Cullen's book lay on the night table on his side of the bed, hers was on the couch. The dog bed in the corner, the haphazard pile of his papers on the edge of her desk, the armor stand in the corner holding his armor and shield ... Their life together.

She shook herself before she could go further and imagine a grieving Cullen having to clean all this up and put away her things. There was no time for that kind of distraction, not if she was going to keep that future from coming to pass.

Antonia quickly strapped on her armor, lifting her sword down from the wall. She looked forward to retiring it permanently after this battle. Well, maybe not permanently ... but for a good long time.

Downstairs, Phoenix was waiting for her, his tail wagging to signify his eagerness for the fight. Antonia patted him on the head. "You ready to kill a big old darkspawn?"

He woofed.

"I bet you are."

On the way out of the keep, she ran into Jared. "Sis! Everything's as ready as it will ever be, I think. Horses saddled, companions heading down to the courtyard ready to pull out."

"Good. Thank you, Jared."

"You be careful, okay?"

"I will, much as I can." She gripped his arm tightly. "If I don't come back—"

"Hey, don't talk that way!"

"No, Jared, listen to me. If I don't come back, you take Cullen away from here. Take him to South Reach, tell Mia to keep him there as long as possible. He'll need ... he'll need all of you if he has any chance of healing from that. Promise me!"

He nodded. "I promise."

"Thank you."

"Maker go with you, Antonia."

She squeezed his arm briefly, offering him a quick flash of a smile, and headed down the stairs. From the landing, she could see the Iron Bull and Dorian and Varric all approach Cullen. Saying good-bye, she was sure, but also promising him to bring her back. Much as she wanted to come back to him, more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life, she wasn't going to do it at the cost of one of her dearest friends, no matter what they said. If anyone fell to Corypheus, it would be her.

Morrigan was suddenly next to her, looking tense but excited. "I will be there. You will not see me, certainly not in this form, but I will be there."

"Thank you, Morrigan."

"It is I who should be thanking you. If we are to have a chance today, it is due to you and those who follow you. Your Inquisition has done well."

And the witch was gone, moving toward the upper courtyard instead of the lower. She didn't intend to come with the rest of them, then. Antonia decided to trust her—what other choice was there, really?

She made her way down to the lower courtyard. Leliana waited at the bottom of the stairs. "My friend, you can do this. You must."

"I know. If I don't, though ..."

"We will do our best in your stead. I have faith in you, however, and I know that Justinia would have, as well. I choose to believe that faith such as hers must win out in the end."

Antonia hugged her spymaster impulsively. "Try to be happy, my friend."

"If I could determine what that means ... Perhaps I will." Leliana nodded briskly. "Maker go with you."

She turned from Leliana and met Cullen's eyes, as he waited by her horse. Her companions were all mounted and waiting near the gate, leaving a decent space for the two of them.

Antonia went into his arms, and they held each other fiercely. "Whatever you do," she said, "don't say 'Maker go with you'."

He shook his head. "My heart goes with you. Please … bring it back."

"I'll do my best."

"I thought there would be more time ..." He touched the side of her face, looking into her eyes.

"There would never have been enough time. A lifetime wouldn't be enough."

"No." He leaned his forehead against hers. "I will always love you, you know that."

"I know. I love you, too, Cullen, so much." She took a deep breath. There was no more time. "Kiss me."

"Of course." It was brief, as it had to be, but full of love and passion, for all that.

Antonia cupped his cheek in her unmarked hand. "Smile for me, Cullen."

He tried, she had to give him that, when she was certain smiling was the last thing on his mind. Then he let her go, stepping back and crossing his arm over his chest. "Let that thing hear you, Inquisitor."

"As you say, Commander." She mounted the horse, giving him one last look before turning the horse's head toward the group of her companions. "You all ready to kick some darkspawn ass?"

Their rousing cheer was heartening to her. With them all behind her, she galloped out of Skyhold.


	105. Watching the Sky

_Thanks for reading, all!  
_

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_17 Justinian, 9:42_

Cullen watched Antonia until she was through the gates, and then he took the stairs to the battlements three at a time so that he could watch until her horse was out of sight down the mountain road. When it was gone, he dropped his head onto his folded hands on the top of the broken battlement, letting the words pour out of him.

"Holy Andraste, please keep her safe and bring her back to me. If anything—if she doesn't come back, I don't know what I will do." He took a deep breath, trying to keep from losing control. "Give me the strength to face whatever comes this day with dignity and acceptance, the way she deserves. Watch over her companions, that they have the strength and speed to protect her, and bring them home safely to those who care for them, as well." He couldn't help picturing it in his mind's eye, the battlefield covered with the bodies of friends and companions. Just like the Tower. Just like Kirkwall. And he broke, the tears beginning to flow. He could no longer pray for what he ought to pray for; the words that came out were from his soul, his deepest, most heartfelt prayer. "Please, Maker, don't let her die."

"Cullen, it will be all right." He hadn't even noticed Josephine join him. She reached out a hand and rubbed his shoulder, but her eyes, too, were on the gate where Antonia and her companions had disappeared. "They will come back."

"How can you be so certain?"

"They have never failed to return before," she said simply, giving an eloquent shrug. "Until proven otherwise, I will believe that they can prevail over anything they must face."

He turned to look at her. "What will you do then?" he asked. "Do you and Blackw—Rainier have any plans?"

Josephine smiled. "He will join the Wardens, as the Inquisitor declared, and I will remain here working for the Inquisition ... and then eventually return home to Antiva to run my family's holdings." She shook her head. "There was never any question of permanence—we inhabit different worlds, and our lives tend toward different goals."

There wasn't much Cullen could say to that. Obviously his situation was drastically different, but Josephine knew that, and neither of them needed him to reiterate the position he found himself in. "What is there to do?" he asked. If only there was work that could keep his mind off what was happening in Haven ... and off how little there was he could do to effect any change in Antonia's fortunes.

"I can think of nothing. I am sorry, I wish there was more, but by the time we sent messages to outlying holdings and the Inquisition forces could reach Haven ... it is likely to be all over."

"That's what I thought as well." He sighed heavily. "If I could just ... I don't know ... sleep until this is all over ... but I wouldn't be able to close my eyes." He couldn't even bring himself to go into the main keep, much less up into her—their—quarters, and the bed in the loft of his office had its own share of memories. Cullen remembered waking up that first morning with her beautiful face the first thing he saw when the nightmare let him out of its grip, and the wonder and joy that had filled him then. And the first time they had kissed, farther down the battlements, her surprise turning into passion as she melted into his arms.

"Cullen, do not do this to yourself," Josephine said softly next to him. "Surely ... surely there is something we could find to do that will make the time pass. Perhaps we could find someone for you to spar with?"

He offered Josephine as much of a smile as he could muster. It was a kind offer, but of course, after Antonia his most frequent sparring partners were Cassandra and the Iron Bull, and they were in as much danger as Antonia was.

Jared came up the stairs, coming to lean on the wall next to Cullen. "Hey, little brother."

"Hey."

"Josephine, I think the visiting nobles are getting restless," Jared said. "I'll take over up here."

It stung Cullen just a bit that they felt he needed to be babysat, but it wasn't far off the mark, not really. Left to himself, with nothing more to keep his mind occupied than fear, he might just saddle a horse and ride after her, which would ultimately help no one. "Jared."

"I know." His brother's eyes were on the horizon, but they didn't seem to see it. "I lost someone once ... in the final battle against the Archdemon, in Denerim. Without her ... haven't seemed to be able to settle down to anything since."

"How did you go on?"

Jared shrugged. "Had to. Giving up would've made me unworthy of her. She'd've wanted me to go on and be happy, but—that I couldn't do. Couldn't imagine another woman being— Until recently. Feels a little disloyal, even now."

Cullen straightened up a bit. Could he do less than his brother? "I had no idea."

"No one does. They never met Maris, and I didn't talk about it afterward."

"I'm sorry."

"Thanks. For what it's worth, I think your girl is coming back."

"From your mouth to the Maker's ears."

Jared smiled. "Come on, little brother. No point in watching up here—they can't even have made Haven yet. Let's go play some chess or something."

"I'll never be able to keep my mind on a chess game." Not to mention the memories at the chess board; would he ever be able to play again without thinking of Antonia? He doubted it.

"Fine. Then we're going to go make lunch for everyone. That'll keep your hands busy."

The cooks wouldn't love that, but it was the best distraction anyone had come up with yet.

Somehow, he managed to keep himself busy the rest of the day, with Jared's help. His brother never left his side, and Cullen blessed Mia and Antonia both for his renewed relationship with his family and for Jared's presence here today.

At the end of the day, most of Skyhold was clustered on the battlements, watching the green light in the sky. There was nothing particularly to see, the light hanging there and pulsing occasionally. Far away, were Antonia and her people arriving at Haven? Were they already there and fighting? No one knew.

Slowly, people began to drift away, until the only ones left on the battlements were Cullen, Jared, and Leliana.

"This is torture," Leliana said softly. "This must have been how people felt as the battle of Denerim went on."

"We were busy fighting," Jared said.

She turned to look at him. "Thank you."

"No, thank_ you_, ma'am."

Cullen kept his eyes on the horizon.

"I cannot help but think she is coming back," Leliana said.

"People keep telling me that. It isn't reassuring."

"No, I can see how it wouldn't be."

The ongoing prayer to Andraste that had been whispering itself in his head all day was still going.

"You should get some sleep," Leliana said, and he turned to her, lifting an eyebrow to convey exactly how ridiculous he felt that suggestion was. "Or not." She shrugged lightly. "I do not think I can sleep, either. I will stay here with you."

Jared grinned. "I think that's my cue to leave you both. I'll see you in the morning, little brother."

Cullen couldn't say good-night; it really wasn't one. But he mustered as much of a smile for his brother as he could manage. He and Leliana were left there, watching the sky together. At last, he said, "I understand that if Corypheus is defeated, you will be leaving us."

"Antonia told you that?"

"That she intends to send you to be with Thomas? Yes." He looked at her searchingly. "I don't know how you've managed this long. You deserve to be together, and I have to think that you would only be a help in his quest."

"I have come to think so, as well. Certainly … certainly it seems a waste to be spending these precious years apart. Calling or no Calling, they are all we have."

Cullen nodded, understanding. He had no intention of ever being separated from Antonia again … assuming she came home safely.

"Will you bring on Varric as the next spymaster?" Leliana asked.

"It's hard to say," Cullen said. "We've discussed it briefly, Antonia and I, but not in depth. I think she was leaning more toward the Iron Bull."

Leliana raised an eyebrow, then nodded slowly. "I suppose I can see that."

They made a few further attempts at conversation through the long night, but mostly just stood there together, watching the sky. As the dawn was beginning to peek over the tops of the mountain, something changed, the Breach beginning to pulse wildly, and then ... then it was gone.

Cullen looked at Leliana. "That has to be good, doesn't it? Tell me that means ..."

"It should," she said, unwilling to commit.

"Oh, please," he said softly, staring at the scarred sky where the Breach had been.

They watched longer, people joining them slowly as those who were awake at this hour noticed the lack of the Breach in the sky. And then out of the growing light came a small speck, growing larger as it came. Leliana moved forward. "It's a raven!" She held her arm up, and the bird alit. Unrolling the message tied to its leg, she read it briefly, then handed it to Cullen. "It's for you."

It was brief, and in a familiar handwriting, and Cullen could hardly read it for the blurring of his vision as tears filled his eyes. It said, "Corypheus is dead. Tell Cullen I'm coming home."

He wept unashamedly, and so did all those around him, sending prayers of thanks to Andraste and the Maker.


	106. Still Here

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_18 Justinian, 9:42_

There was a ringing in her ears, and she was surrounded by darkness, held down by something heavy. Antonia tried to stir, but it was hard to move. Dimly over the ringing, she could hear a familiar voice bellowing, "Boss! Boss!"

The Iron Bull. She smiled to herself. Dorian would be pleased—the Iron Bull had made it. But had Dorian? Or Varric? What of Morrigan, crashing from the sky as a dragon and landing as a woman?

And then it occurred to her—she could hear the Iron Bull's voice, she could feel the pain of whatever lay on top of her ... she had made it. She lived. _Cullen_. Her lips formed the word, although her throat was too dry and raw from the screaming of the combat to speak out loud. She cleared her throat, trying to make sound come out. "Bull," she croaked. "Bull!"

"Boss!" His voice was delighted, and right above her, and shortly she felt the weight above her shift and then disappear entirely.

"Don't move her," Dorian's voice said sharply. "Antonia, lie still. If there's a spine injury ..." He was bending over her now, his hands on her back as he listened with his magic. He was a fairly limited healer, but better than nothing. "Varric, go find Solas and Vivienne. I'll need them. Bull, go check on Morrigan."

"Got it."

"On my way, Sparkler."

"You're all alive." Antonia couldn't believe it. Corypheus was dead, and her boys were safe. Somehow she had gotten them all through; or they had gotten her through; or something of both.

"Yes, we are. And as soon as we can, we're going to get you up and take you home."

"How is Morrigan?" Antonia couldn't help thinking of the mage's son. Who would take care of him if she died?

"I'm going to look at her next, or send one of the others as soon as I see them."

Varric came hurrying back, with Vivienne, and Dorian directed her to Morrigan. "No sign of Chuckles, though," Varric said. "The Iron Lady says she hasn't seen him since early on in the battle."

Antonia raised an eyebrow. "That's strange."

"I thought so." He was silent for a moment, his fingers moving gently over her back. "All right, my dear," he said at length, "I don't feel anything particularly wrong here. Try moving, just a little, and tell me what hurts."

Antonia shifted, feeling a sharp pain in her right shoulder. Dorian put his hands there, pouring healing magic in, and she could almost feel the torn muscles knitting themselves back together. Slowly between them they managed to get her on her feet, more or less standing. Only then did she think to look at her hand ... and when she did, she nearly wept.

It was still there. The mark still glowed in her hand. Antonia clenched her teeth against the nausea that rose in her throat.

"What is it?" Dorian asked anxiously. "Another injury?"

"No." She shook her head, showing him the Anchor. "It's still here. I wanted—I wanted it off. Can you ... can you take it off, Dorian?"

He took her hand in his, looking the Anchor over carefully, and shook his head. "No. I can't. I'm sorry."

At that, she did cry. Dorian and Varric looked at each other helplessly. Then the Iron Bull came striding over, his big arms enfolding her and holding her against him. He smelled like blood and the odd smokiness of Qunari sweat, but it was comforting nonetheless. "Let Uncle Bull take this one," he said to the others, and they took a few steps away, toward where Vivienne knelt next to Morrigan. The Iron Bull gently tipped Antonia's head up towards him. "Hey, boss, look at me."

"What?"

"So you have a big green glowing thing in your hand. I've got horns, in case you haven't noticed; Dorian's got magic that I think sometimes he'd like to put aside for a few minutes. Varric's got Bianca. We all have our challenges."

"Yes. Yes, I know that, but—" She thought of having that thing inside her for the rest of her life, and felt almost panicked.

The Iron Bull picked up her hand, holding it in front of her. "You saved the world with this today. And last year. And you might again; you never know. You built the Inquisition because of it. You met Cullen because of it. Not to mention me." He grinned. "The way I see it, this is your call—you can rage against this mark and make yourself miserable over it, or you can appreciate all the good it's brought you, and all the good things it's let you do."

"I take it you think I should do the second."

"That's usually the kind of person you are."

Vivienne appeared next to them at that point. "Inquisitor, darling, I think you should know the mage will live. She has taken over her own healing, and says she will meet us back at Skyhold."

"Oh, good." Antonia clenched her hand into a fist. "Thanks, Bull. I'll ... give it some thought."

"Do that."

She moved with her people down to the base of the ruined stone stairs where the rest of the team waited. Cassandra was smiling as broadly as Antonia had ever seen her, Sera practically vibrating with excitement. Cole's gentle smile shone warmly on her, and Blackwall nodded slowly, less elated but equally pleased.

One of Leliana's people hurried over with a bird perched on his arm. "Inquisitor—we're sending a message to Skyhold. What do you want me to say?"

Cullen! His face was clear in her mind, and she imagined the happiness in it when he knew she was alive. "Let me write it, please." She took the tiny piece of paper and carefully wrote her message.

She looked up at the others. "Someone find the horses, and let's go home."

They cheered.

* * *

_A/N: Since several of you asked for advance warning, we should be starting Trespasser content two weeks from today.  
_


	107. Everything

_Thank you for reading, all!  
_

* * *

_18 Justinian, 9:42_

The gates of Skyhold were wide open, and the road leading there was lined with people as Antonia and her team rode up. They were all cheering and calling out "Inquisitor! Inquisitor!" Krem and the Chargers were near the entrance, and they added "Chief!" to that call. The Iron Bull grinned at them and raised his greatsword above his head.

Antonia looked around and smiled at everyone, but in truth, there was only one voice she wanted to hear, one smile she wanted to see.

Some of the stableboys were standing near the gates, ready to take the horses, and Antonia swung down from hers, patting the stableboy on the back as she did so.

"Thank you, Your Worship," he said.

"Thank _you,"_ she said. "You're Inquisition, and don't you ever forget it."

"Yes, Your—Inquisitor." He grinned from ear to ear.

She walked through the crowds of people—her people—waving, as they parted to let her through, and behind her, her companions, the stalwart fighters who had kept her alive through it all. She would have to find some way to reward each of them.

Up ahead, on the landing of the stone stairs, stood her advisors, all three of them smiling as broadly as anyone in the crowd. Antonia's eyes met Cullen's across the distance, and it was all she could do not to run to him. But she held herself to a regular pace, wanting to preserve the pageantry that seemed so important to those lining her path.

Mounting the steps, she stood in front of them, the three of them who had guided her and the Inquisition this far, who had brought them all here. "Thank you," she said softly.

As one, they bowed to her, and she wanted to tell them, as she had wanted to tell so many people since this began, to stand up, she was just a person ... but today she wasn't, either. She had defeated Corypheus, torn him to pieces with a Fade rift placed inside him, and closed once and for all the Breach that had threatened to swallow the world. She had, in fact, saved the world. Antonia wished Thomas Amell were here—she would have liked to have talked to him about what this felt like.

And then the advisors straightened, and, unable to retain the formality any longer, Cullen stepped forward with his arms outstretched. Antonia rushed into them, feeling his arms fold around her, the heat of his body warming her all through. She clung to him, and he to her, while their people cheered.

At last, reluctantly, he let go, holding onto her hand as they stepped to the edge of the landing with Josephine and Leliana. Antonia looked out over her people, gesturing for silence. Far down below, a shrill whistle split the air, and she looked down to see the Iron Bull grinning at her as the cheering slowed and stopped.

"Inquisition! Get a good night's rest, because the celebration starts tomorrow ... may it never stop!"

The cheering started again, the people beginning to disperse, as Cullen tugged her toward the steps up to the main hall of the keep. "Am I imagining it," he whispered to her, "or do we have a moment to breathe?"

"I have one thing to do, then we have more than a moment. We have a whole night."

"I love the sound of that."

"So do I." She disentangled her hand from his reluctantly and caught up with Leliana a few steps ahead. "Most business can wait until tomorrow, but you should know that Solas is gone. No one's been able to find him since partway through the battle."

"Did he fall?"

"Not that anyone saw, and there was no body. He's just ... gone." Antonia frowned. "I always thought there was something odd there. Can you look into it?"

"I'll do what I can." Leliana put an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "Put the sword down for tonight; you've earned it." Her eyes took on a wistful light. "I remember the night after we killed the Archdemon ..." They filled with tears. "Make it memorable," she advised. "Because you never know where tomorrow may take you."

Antonia shivered at the other woman's words, but put her trepidation aside. Tonight was for happiness and thoughts of a blissful and trouble-free future.

She went back to Cullen, smiling to see the happiness in his face. No trepidation there. "Do I get to claim more of your attention after all?"

"It's all yours. Is there something on your mind?"

He looked her up and down, nodding slowly. "Everything."

"Well, that sounds like it could take a long time. Maybe we should take the discussion upstairs."

His eyes were warm and full of promise and he chuckled low in his throat. "I thought you'd never ask."


	108. Here with Me

_A little post-Corypheus fluff and smut for your weekend - and to thank you all so much for reading! Next week will wrap up base game content and begin Trespasser content.  
_

* * *

_18 Justinian, 9:42_

Cullen could hardly wait until they reached their quarters to pull her into his arms. He didn't even want to kiss her, not just yet. Right now he just needed the feeling of her there, the reassurance that it really was all over, that she had survived, and that she was here with him where she belonged.

She seemed to need something of that, too, because she clung to him tightly, her face buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder.

After a long time, he said, "Was it awful?"

"It was ... hard. It was— Cullen." Her voice quivered.

"What is it, my light?"

She held out her left hand, the mark still glowing inside the palm. "It's still here. I can't ... I wanted it to go away, and it—it won't." Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Cullen took her hand in both of his, lifting it to his lips and kissing the glowing mark there. He held her hand firmly, even when she tried to wrest it from his grasp. "I'm sorry. I would take it from you if I could ... but it doesn't matter. Not really. Because the Breach is closed, and Corypheus is gone, and you're still here. And that is all that matters."

"I know, and I'm trying to remember that, but ..."

He put his fingers over her mouth. "No more tonight. Tonight, we celebrate that what we dreaded is past and you're still alive, and still here with me. Tomorrow, we can look into this. Maybe Dagna can find a way to get rid of the mark, or Dorian's research will turn something up, or Morrigan will have some insight. All right?"

"All right. What would I do without you?"

"You never have to find out. Never." He bent to kiss her now, slowly teasing her lips with his, deepening the contact even more slowly, wanting to savor her taste and her touch and her scent. "Maker, I love you."

"Cullen ..." Her fingers were worrying at the buckles on his breastplate.

"Slowly, love. We have all the time in the world." He nudged her head to the side, feathering small kisses along the line of her jaw and up to her ear, his tongue tracing the shell. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against hers briefly. "And I think you might want something to eat and a bath after your long day, don't you?"

"Yours hasn't been short, I bet," Antonia said. She lifted her hand and stroked the side of his face. "You haven't slept at all, have you?"

"Just like old times." He smiled at her, but she looked alarmed and pressed the back of her hand firmly against his forehead. "No fever, I promise. I didn't mean it like that."

"Good."

"Now, let me run you a bath, and you can soak while I get Roya to bring you something to eat. And then we'll get back to what we were doing before," he said softly.

"You don't have to take care of me, Cullen."

"Yes, I do. Because you're here, and you—I thought you wouldn't be, and I didn't know what I—"

"Don't think about that anymore. I'm here now, and I'm never leaving you again, not if I can help it."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He kissed her again out of sheer joy at hearing the ease with which the promise came from her now, and then he ran the bath and helped her out of her armor—not without significant pauses to exclaim over bruises and to stop and kiss her again and to look at her in detail and marvel that she was here and it truly was over.

Then Roya came up and brought food, and exclaimed over the bruises in her turn and clucked and fussed over Antonia as she ate. Antonia put up with all of it with decent grace, until she was finished eating, at which point she told them both to stop acting like her mother and give her a moment to breathe.

Roya smiled. "I know what that means. You," she said, fixing Cullen with a steely glare. "You both need your rest, so make sure she gets some."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good."

Left alone, they looked at each other somewhat awkwardly. Cullen wanted ... everything, all at once, to make exquisite love to her and to bury himself inside her immediately and to just hold her and look at her.

Antonia was the first to move, reaching for the tie of her warm woolly robe and loosening it. She shrugged and let it fall off her body, standing there in front of him naked in the moonlight that streamed in the open balcony doors.

"Maker's breath. You are so lovely."

She smiled. "You only say that because you can't see the bruises in this light."

"I would say that if you were nothing but a bruise."

"Ew."

"Yes, that's unfortunate imagery."

"You know what else is unfortunate? That I'm the only one naked in this room."

Cullen smiled. "That is a shame, isn't it? Care to come help me do something about that?"

"After the day I've had, you want me to do more work? I think not." She lay down on the bed, propping the pillows up behind her. "Let me see you, Cullen."

Almost shyly—he had been naked before her many times, but she had never watched like this before—he began disrobing.

"Don't hurry. Take your time." Her brown eyes were on him, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips as he slid his shirt off his shoulders. "You're beautiful, you know that?"

"You couldn't manage a more manly term?"

"You mean, such as 'ruggedly handsome'?"

"Ah, that's more like it." He smiled at her, tugging off his boots. His pants and smallclothes came off together, with some difficulty over his already hard length. "Antonia ..."

"Come here, Cullen." She opened her arms to him, and he joined her on the bed, moaning at the contact with her smooth, soft body.

His fingers trembled as he cupped her face, kissing her hungrily, pressing her back into the pillows in an effort to get ever closer. Antonia's leg slid up and down the side of his, eventually wrapping itself over his hip, and the heat of her was so close now, he couldn't help just rubbing himself against her, just a little, and then somehow she had shifted and he was inside her even though he hadn't meant to get there yet.

"Ah, Cullen," she whispered, her eyes closing at the feel of him.

"Open your eyes, Antonia." He waited until she forced them open, looking down at her face in the moonlight. Her eyes were soft and hazy, the way he loved to see them. Slowly, his gaze never leaving hers, he withdrew and thrust again, every inch of her caressing him. Another gradual withdrawal, another undulating movement inside—over and over again, their eyes locked on each other's face.

"Oh, please, Cullen, I want—ah, there, please, yes," she whispered at last, her hips lifting. He could feel her tightening around him as her pleasure got closer, and while he wanted to make this last longer, he was shaking with his own need for release.

Bending his head, he kissed her, his tongue finding hers as he thrust once more, as deeply as he had ever gone before, and again, and again, and then she was clutching him, her body clenching tightly around him, and he couldn't hold himself back any longer, the waves overtaking him.

The tensions of the last few days—the last year and a half, really—had taken their toll on him, and he found he could hardly keep his eyes open. Antonia seemed to feel the same, her eyelids heavy. Still clinging to one another, they shifted beneath the covers and drifted off to sleep together.


	109. What You Want to Do

_Thank you all so much for your enthusiasm for this story all the way through! I really appreciate it._

* * *

_19 Justinian, 9:42_

The banquet had been going on for hours—the whole keep was celebrating. People were trickling in from the outlying holdings, and there were messages from nobles all over Thedas wanting to know what was going on.

Leliana and Josephine had been busy responding to all the messages; it hadn't been much of a celebration for them until the banquet had begun. But now they were both flushed and rosy with the wine they had consumed, singing softly together at the end of a table.

Antonia had made the rounds, stopping only for a few bites to eat when Cullen forced her, wanting to check in with all her people. They had defeated Corypheus, but the Inquisition's work wasn't done yet. When would it be done? She wasn't sure. She didn't really know what the Inquisition would do now that there was no one left to fight. There was quite a bit of clean-up left, though, resolving any remaining rifts left open and taking care of demons—enough to keep them going for a while.

She and Cullen would have to decide how that factored into their plans for marriage and a family. In the meantime, she needed to know how many of her people were leaving. Sera had already drunkenly begged not to be sent away, and Antonia had assured her she wouldn't be. Cole was staying, as well—where else he would go if he didn't stay with the Inquisition, Antonia couldn't imagine. She was glad to be able to protect him a while longer. Vivienne would return to Val Royeaux, where no doubt she would be happier.

Antonia found Blackwall in a corner, watching contentedly. "Will you be leaving to join the Wardens, then?"

"Yes, as agreed. It's time," he said. "Past time, really. And I'll be able to say I helped take down an ancient darkspawn—should help my transition to the Wardens go smoothly."

"It does seem as though that would look good on a Grey Warden resume. What of Josephine?"

Blackwall smiled. "A lovely lady, and worth much more than I can offer any woman. No, I'm afraid yours is the great love story of the Inquisition—as it should be. You two take care of each other. You both need someone to look after you. And if you ever have need of my blade, you know where to find me."

"Thank you, Blackwall. We couldn't have done it without you."

He nodded, although she could see he didn't believe her.

When she spoke to Josephine, the ambassador seeemed cheerful about the prospects for the future, even if the banquet wasn't quite up to her exacting standards. Few gatherings were, however, and Antonia made sure to tell her friend and colleague how lucky the Inquisition was to have her.

Cassandra had imbibed rather freely, and she was fulsome—for her—in her praise of Antonia's actions. It was almost embarrassing, and would no doubt be highly so for Cassandra if she remembered any of it in the morning. No doubt the chances to fully cut loose would be much fewer once Cassandra ascended to the position of Divine. Antonia would miss her, but she had faith in Cassandra's ability to make the Chantry behave.

Leliana had receded into a corner, as if she was departing from them already. Antonia caught her there. "Leaving so soon?"

"No, merely finding a vantage point to take it all in. I will miss this."

"Thomas is waiting for you?"

"Yes." Leliana smiled, a more genuine, softer smile than any Antonia had ever seen on her face. "It has been too long since we were able to be together freely, but I think we both agree now that it is better to spend our time together searching for a cure for the Calling than to waste any more of our lives apart."

"Running away for love—it sounds idyllic." Antonia sighed.

"I can see how it might." Leliana laughed. "But your place is here, in the Inquisition we have built. I am sad to leave it."

"We're sad to see you go. Thank you, Leliana." Antonia hugged her friend one last time; she had the sense that Leliana would be gone in the morning, and no idea how long it would be before they saw each other again. If ever. She wished Leliana—and Thomas, too—all the happiness they so richly deserved.

Antonia found Varric holding court at the head of a table. He got up and left his adoring public when she came past, though, and they walked together. "I was thinking of making the story of the Inquisition my next book," he said.

"Must you?"

Varric laughed. "You'd come out very well, I promise."

"I'm sure that's what you said to Hawke, too." She glanced down at her friend. "You're going back to Kirkwall, aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm going to try to convince Hawke and Fenris to come out of exile and come home, too. Kirkwall needs as many people working to try to put it back together as possible."

"That sounds nice for you." She tried to keep the sadness out of her voice; Varric had been her first friend in the Inquisition, and she would miss him very much.

"Oh, don't get like that. I'm not leaving for a while yet. Should be time for some more Wicked Grace before I go, so Curly can get his dignity back. And the two of you can come visit Kirkwall on a state visit. Or on your way to Ostwick." He grinned.

"That'll be the day."

"Aw, give 'em a chance. They'll figure out what a gem the family tree produced."

"Thanks, Varric."

"Anytime ... Antonia."

She smiled at the use of her name, because it was better than crying.

At the end of the night, she found herself on her balcony with Cullen, Dorian, and the Iron Bull, toasting with champagne.

"To us being alive, and the bad guys not!" the Iron Bull said.

"Hear, hear!"

"To my boys, for keeping me alive," Antonia said.

"I'll drink to that." Cullen put his arm around her, hugging her close.

"It was close a time or two."

"Now that it's done, are you still planning to go back to Tevinter and tell them the elf story?" Antonia asked Dorian.

The Iron Bull watched his lover closely. Dorian sighed. "I had thought about it, but ... who would believe me?"

"Good," Antonia said, "because I have a job offer for the Iron Bull."

"You do?" The Qunari raised his eyebrows, realizing where she was going with this. "You want me to take over for Red?"

"Can you think of a better Inquisition spymaster?"

The Iron Bull turned to Cullen. "And you agreed to this?"

He smiled. "It was my suggestion."

"You know you want the job," Dorian said. "You told me as much last month."

"That's true, I did ... I just didn't know I was going to have it offered to me on a platter."

"Eat your heart out, Ben-Hassrath," Antonia said. "Their loss is our gain. Come on, Bull, say you'll take it."

"Oh, of course I'll take it. Just ... might take some getting used to."

"Well, there's plenty of time."

They drank again, finishing off the bottle. Then Dorian and the Iron Bull took their personal celebration off elsewhere, leaving Antonia and Cullen on the balcony, looking up at the stars.

"I used to watch those stars from the battlements," Cullen said softly, putting his arms around her. Antonia rested her head against his shoulder contentedly. "They were my sanity—always the same, never changing, no matter what. Now ... perhaps I see the magic in them again."

Antonia turned her head to kiss him. "I don't think I ever asked you what you want to do now."

"Stay with you; finish the tasks of the Inquisition, however long that takes. Get married, at long last."

"I like the sound of that."

"Good."


	110. Maybe

_Excited to be moving into Trespasser content today - I was very happy with how well the DLC dovetailed with what I had already envisioned for their future. Thanks for sticking with me!  
_

* * *

_23 Solace, 9:44_

"Are you sure we can't take him?" Antonia asked for at least the fourteenth time. She looked down at the sleeping baby in the crib_, _noting with some sorrow how long he already was, how his wisps of blond hair were already filling in and making him look like a little boy.

"Positive." Cullen drew her firmly away from the crib. "We've been over this, love. We don't know how long this Exalted Council will take, we don't know what type of snake pit we're walking into, and I would far rather not have Vel there to be used as a pawn or a threat. Or gussied up in those ridiculous Orlesian baby clothes Vivienne keeps sending." He gave an exaggerated shudder.

In the crib, Vel sighed and turned on his side. Antonia supposed she couldn't really think of him as a baby any longer; he had passed his first birthday several weeks back. They had named him Garrick Trevelyan Rutherford, after Cullen's father, but it seemed like such a mouthful it had been shortened to Vel early on. He was his father's son, from the golden curls to the careful study of any tricky problem before attempting it. Only in the last few days had he been willing to take real steps, and Antonia found herself nearly weeping at the idea that she'd be away for whatever the next milestone would be.

"We'll be fine, my lady, and so will you," Roya said encouragingly, coming forward to lay a gentle hand on Vel's back. "And if you don't leave before he wakes up, I'll have a screaming baby on my hands and you'll never be able to tear yourself away."

From the stairs, where he was watching with an indulgent smile, his arms folded over his chest, Jared spoke up. "Roya and I'll have things in hand for the young nipper here, don't you worry, sis. Let's see … I can teach him to say dirty words, and suck on chess pieces …" He chuckled at the indignation on Cullen's face.

Only half listening to him, Antonia sighed. "You're right. I know you're right." She blinked back her tears. She hated the idea of this Exalted Council anyway, hated it tearing her away from her work and her family, but Cullen was right—at Halamshiral, their son would be ammunition for anyone who wanted to take a shortcut to hurting them. Reluctantly she turned away from the baby, picking up her battered knapsack and slinging it over her shoulder. Phoenix was waiting for her at the top of the stairs; Lucky would remain behind to help Roya and Jared keep an eye on the baby, an agreement the dog wasn't entirely happy with, but Cullen had insisted.

"You know he'll be spoiled rotten by the entire keep while we're gone," she muttered to Cullen, who chuckled.

"No doubt."

Josephine was waiting for them in the courtyard, as was the Iron Bull. Ambassador and spymaster worked fairly well together, the Bull having taken his new task by the horns, as he liked to say. Dorian had left for Tevinter several months back, and Antonia hadn't wanted to pry into the two men's arrangements. A recent letter from Dorian indicated she might see him at Halamshiral, and similar missives had come from Blackwall and Varric. Sera and Cole were still nominally part of the Inquisition, although it was hard to tell where either of them was at any given moment, and Vivienne would certainly be awaiting them in Orlais. Leliana and Thomas Amell had gone into hiding, whereabouts unknown. Some days Antonia envied them their imagined peace and quiet.

"I cannot imagine Cassandra as the Divine," Josephine said, as they turned their horses toward the mountain road.

"No, I can't, either." Cullen caught Antonia's rein as she turned in her saddle to look back at the keep.

"She'll look like a disaster in one of those hats," the Iron Bull added.

They were all looking at Antonia, and she blinked back more tears. What a simpleton they must all think her, having such trouble tearing herself away. Her emotions had been running very high in recent weeks.

"Hey, boss," the Iron Bull said gently. "He'll be fine. I have my best people on him, and I'll be getting daily messages. If anything happened, I would know within hours. Not that anything's going to happen," he added hastily.

There was nothing to be done about it anyway. Antonia turned her face away from Skyhold, trying not to think about it. Of course, thinking about the Exalted Council was no better.

"Remember," Josephine said, her eyes resting sympathetically on Antonia's face, "we must be careful how we present ourselves. The eyes of Orlais and Ferelden will be upon us."

"I can't believe King Alistair is going about things this way." Antonia frowned. "I thought we had a better relationship than that."

"It's very Fereldan, isn't it, to be open and friendly to one's face and to have someone less pleasant give the bad news in private?" Josephine glanced at Cullen. "Present company excepted, naturally."

"Friendly or not, I imagine no monarch would be best pleased with an organization of the Inquisition's size and power camping on their very doorstep." Cullen groaned, rolling his eyes. "I can't believe I just defended politics."

"To think I've lived to see this day," Antonia teased him.

The Iron Bull said, "Anyway, Alistair's the king, but not necessarily the power. This Teagan guy has a loud voice and a lot of influence, and he's still not wild about how we more or less took over the Hinterlands and Redcliffe."

"We saved Redcliffe from the mages and from the Venatori!"

"Yeah, and that's what they thank us for to our faces, but what they say behind our backs isn't always the same. Teagan's gotten progressively grumpier the last couple of years. Word has it maybe the king isn't feeling so well, that whole Grey Warden thing, and Teagan's positioning himself as regent for the princeling. The Inquisition may well be the issue he's planting his flag over."

"Why did Divine Victoria call this Exalted Council, anyway?" Cullen asked. "She's kept Orlais from bothering us for two years."

Josephine shrugged lightly. "I believe there is an end to even her ability to say 'no'. Even the Divine has to occasionally placate the loud voices around her, and most of those are saying they would like to see some reins put on the Inquisition, that we should dance to Orlais' tune."

"Like show ponies." Cullen snorted. "Just what we need."

Surreptitiously, Antonia rubbed the Anchor on her hand. It had bothered her more in recent weeks, occasional flaring pain taking her by surprise. She hadn't said anything about it; she liked to pretend as much as she could that it wasn't there. Maybe it was this Council that had it flaring up; the very idea of disbanding the Inquisition, or altering it to suit the demands of either Ferelden or Orlais—or both—made her ill.

She appreciated Cassandra having held Orlais and the Chantry back from attempting to gain more oversight, but she also recognized that there was a limit to what Cassandra could do, and complications attendant on becoming the Divine and trying to turn the Chantry in a more progressive direction that might put Cassandra in the position of using the Inquisition as a bargaining chip.

It would be nice to see her friend again. Cassandra's first act as Divine, and her last as a member of the Inquisition, had been to personally perform the marriage ceremony for Cullen and Antonia, just a month after the death of Corypheus, and they had seen very little of her since. Antonia's pregnancy had made it difficult for her to travel, and Cassandra's new role put many demands on her time. Her letters were as blunt and uncompromising as ever.

"Boss, Varric's got the Wicked Grace game set up. He paid extra for the most private spot he could get."

"What, the Divine's bedchamber?" Antonia grinned, but the Iron Bull's expression didn't change. "No kidding."

"I didn't say what he paid with." All three of his companions turned to stare at him, and the Iron Bull shrugged. "If you people couldn't see the chemistry between them, it was probably because you were too distracted with your own."

Antonia had wondered, a number of times, about Varric and Cassandra. She'd also had some hopes for Jared and Cassandra, at one point, but Cassandra had become Divine and Jared, while the target of many admiring glances, seemed to find his joy in playing brother and uncle.

She smiled at the thought of seeing Varric. He had been her first friend in the Inquisition, and she missed him dearly, as she did Dorian. Maybe if she could hold on to that idea, that this Exalted Council was really just an excuse to see old friends, maybe then she could forget her fear of what it would lead to, her increasing concern over the pain from the Anchor, and her longing to turn the horse around and go back for her baby.

Maybe.


	111. A Very Beautiful Mule

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

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_25 Solace, 9:44_

Cullen woke from a nightmare with a start. By now, it was reflex to immediately check to see if he had awakened Antonia, but she was sleeping deeply. He settled himself more comfortably next to her, where he could watch her face in the dim starlight that came from the partially uncovered windows.

Outside, he could hear the soft footfalls of the men he had assigned for her protection. Cullen had never liked Orlais, and he didn't trust anyone at this Exalted Council—he wasn't even sure if he excepted their companions, present and former. Everyone had scattered enough over the past couple of years that all their motives and desires were suspect at this point.

Antonia sighed in her sleep, turning in his direction and nuzzling against his shoulder. Cullen couldn't help smiling at the sight of her. Nearly two years married and he still couldn't get used to the idea that this was his wife, that this extraordinary woman had not only pledged to join her life with his but had borne his child.

It had been as difficult for him to leave their son behind as it had been for Antonia. Secretly, he had been relieved that she'd had such trouble, because helping her had kept him from insisting that they all stay at Skyhold with the baby and just not go to this Council.

Josephine would never have allowed that, and he trusted the ambassador's instincts. They needed to get this Council behind them, to put to rest the concerns of Ferelden and Orlais. Either country could cause them a significant amount of trouble if it wished to, positioned as they were on the border of both. He only wished he believed they could actually put the concerns of both countries to rest; it seemed an impossible task, even for Antonia, who had already performed so many impossible tasks. Didn't she deserve a rest at some point?

He was worried about her. She had been tired and drawn this past month. Vel's birth had been a difficult one, her recovery long and slow. Between her state of health and the Anchor, she hadn't been able to breast-feed the baby, and Cullen knew she felt that loss keenly. She had been recovering some of her energy, he'd thought, the dark circles starting to fade from under her eyes, until the past few weeks, when all the exhaustion seemed to come back in a rush. There was something going on with the Anchor, as well; she had been trying to hide it from him, but not successfully.

Antonia stirred in his arms, clearing her throat. "Nightmare?"

"As usual," he said softly, holding very still so she could go back to sleep. He hated to disturb her rest, especially with such a big day ahead of them. The Council wouldn't start until tomorrow, but today she wanted to catch up with all their friends, needed to talk to the principal delegates from each country to determine what their ultimate goals might be, and tonight there would be the party of Varric's that would stretch late into the night.

"Bad timing," Antonia whispered.

"You can sleep; I'm fine."

"I'll say you are." She chuckled low in her throat, her lips moving up the side of his neck in a way that clearly said she'd lost any further interest in sleep.

Cullen hummed in appreciation as she shifted on top of him and stripped off her nightshirt, dropping it on the floor next to the bed. Across the room, lying near the fireplace, Phoenix gave a groan that sounded suspiciously like "Again?!" and curled up more tightly, his tail tucked around his head to cover his eyes and ears.

The humans in the bed ignored him entirely. Cullen ran his hands slowly up his lovely wife's sides, cupping her breasts. They seemed larger than usual, heavy in his hands, and Antonia sucked in a breath as he pressed them lightly.

"Careful," she murmured. "Sensitive."

That she meant it was evident in the way her hands came up to drag his away as soon as he touched her again.

"That sensitive?" Cullen frowned.

"Uh-huh." Antonia slid off him, the mood gone, apparently. "Cullen? Can I tell you something?"

This on top of her other discomforts, especially given her half-fearful tone, raised what had been concern several notches higher. He worked hard to keep it out of his voice, however. "Anything, my light."

"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure, but the last few days, I … I'm pregnant."

"Pregnant," he echoed blankly. That certainly explained all the symptoms, except for the issue with the Anchor. You would think he would have known, but he hadn't thought it was possible— "Haven't you been taking the tea? I could have sworn I saw you …"

"Poured it out." She bit her lip, glancing at him. "Are—aren't you happy?"

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. "You know I want to be. Outside of being your husband, being Vel's father has been the greatest joy of my life. But you remember what Dorian told you after Vel was born?" Maker knew Cullen did. Dorian had been present at Vel's birth, and he and the midwives had had all they could do to get both mother and baby through alive. Vividly, Cullen remembered the days afterward, the hemorrhage that had nearly taken her life, the weakness in her after the toll the pregnancy and the birth had taken on her, the months of recovery. He swallowed, burying his face in her hair and holding her tightly. "I won't lie to you, love, right now I'm more frightened than anything else."

Antonia nodded against his shoulder. "I know. I am, too … or I was at first. But—you know I was an only child, rattling around alone in that big house, neglected and left to my own devices, and I don't want that for my son. I want—what you had, the big noisy family and the love all around you. It's put its mark on you."

"I want that, too, but not at the cost of your life."

"It'll be different this time. I promise."

"You're already exhausted, and we haven't even begun this bloody Council. Why didn't you tell me before we came?"

"You know you would never have let me come if you'd known." Antonia pushed away from him, picking up her nightshirt from the floor and putting it back on. She stood in front of the window, rubbing her hands over her arms. "We can't put this off; it has to be dealt with. If even Cassandra couldn't hold them back from this, that means there really is no other choice." She sighed. "The timing could have been better, but I couldn't have predicted when I would conceive, now, could I?"

Cullen took a deep, shuddering breath. Even after all this time, the very idea of losing her was unthinkable. How could she have done this, taken such a drastic chance with her life, without even discussing it with him?

She was looking at him over her shoulder, and she answered his unspoken question softly. "Because you would have said no. And I wanted this. More than I can possibly say. Can you forgive me?"

He was no proof against her honesty. Getting up from the bed, he walked to her, folding his arms around her. Antonia laid her head back against his shoulder with a sigh of relief. "On two conditions," he said.

"What?"

"One, that as soon as this baby is born we take steps to make sure there won't be any more. I hate to do it, love, you know that, but I won't take any more chances with your life. Dorian said something to me about it after Vel, but … If we want more, I'm more than willing to consider adopting; all this war has doubtless left many orphans in need of homes."

She sighed, but she nodded, too, whispering, "All right. And two?"

"Two—you take care of yourself. That means taking breaks when you need them, and listening to the good advice of your friends and loved ones and caregivers."

"You make me sound stubborn and unreasonable."

"As a mule, my darling. As a very beautiful mule."

Laughing, Antonia turned in his arms and lifted her face for his kiss. "I promise."

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_A/N: Please note, I don't claim that Antonia's decision was the morally correct one, or that Cullen's forgiveness was necessarily the reaction she deserved, but I do think both are consistent with their overall character.  
_


	112. Caught Between

_Thank you all for reading! Getting into the Trespasser content for real this chapter, as well as meeting old friends. _

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_25 Solace, 9:44_

They were up and about bright and early the next morning. Antonia tried not to think of what Vel must be doing at home, toddling about, keeping Roya on her toes, playing with his Uncle Jared.

She kept Phoenix at her heels as she moved amongst all the people gathered at Halamshiral. Let them think her a backwoods Fereldan, with her dog. She was one, after all, if only by marriage, and Phoenix, full-grown now, his glossy black coat stretched tight over his muscular body, was a formidable bodyguard.

She thought guiltily of her conversation with Cullen the previous night. She felt badly about the whole thing, but at the same time she was elated about the new life growing within her. Cullen worried too much, she told herself; he would see that everything was going to be all right.

Bringing her thoughts back to the business at hand, she mounted the steps to the pavilion where the Divine was receiving visitors for the term of the Exalted Council.

Antonia was ushered into the Divine's presence, taking a knee before her and looking down at the floor to avoid laughing at the sight of Cassandra in that hat. "Your Perfection."

"Do not be ridiculous," Cassandra snapped, and Antonia got to her feet, embracing her friend instead. "That is more like it." She held Antonia at arm's length. "You look terrible."

"Thank you. You're looking quite well yourself."

Cassandra shook her head. "I am sorry I couldn't hold this back any further, my friend."

"You don't have anything to apologize for. You've done your best for us, and we're grateful." She looked at Cassandra seriously. "But now that we're here, how worried should I be?" All the humor left Cassandra's face as she held Antonia's gaze, and Antonia sighed. "That bad?"

"Orlais is not so upset; they wish to keep the Inquisition as it is, but to grasp the reins and begin to guide the horse themselves. That can be gotten around. But Ferelden … Ferelden wishes the Inquisition disbanded. They sense a threat, a threat with friendly ties to the Orlesians, camped on their doorstep, and they want it taken care of."

"I'll talk to the representatives from both countries when we're done here, see if I can budge either of them."

"Good luck."

Antonia smiled. "I imagine I'll need it. I understand you'll be attending Varric's gathering tonight?" She phrased it as delicately as she could, not wanting to embarrass Cassandra in front of whatever ears might be listening.

"I wouldn't miss it."

"So I hear."

Cassandra's eyes widened. "What has he told you?"

"Me? Nothing. Why would he?"

"That dwarf. He gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort. I imagine he has told many people many things, and then I walk into these situations."

"It's just me, Cassandra."

"Tell me, how is Cullen? And your little Vel? You were wise not to bring him, although I am disappointed not to be meeting him."

"They're both doing quite well. Cullen's looking forward to seeing you."

"And I him. Antonia, will you take some advice from a friend, for the days to come?"

"From you? Of course."

Cassandra put a hand on Antonia's shoulder, looking into her eyes. "Whatever happens here, take what happiness you can from what life has given you, and do not let it go."

Antonia smiled at her friend, returning the glance. "I could say the same thing to you."

"Perhaps so, my friend. Perhaps so."

"Until tonight, then." Antonia left the Divine's presence, sorry to see and hear the weariness in Cassandra's voice. But then, none of them had expected her to enjoy being Divine, not even Cassandra herself. She had taken on the role as a duty, not a pleasure.

Passing by the inn, Antonia took a moment to chat with Sera, who was still throwing things, occasionally herself amongst them, at Meryden the bard. The two of them had been strolling about southern Ferelden and Orlais getting into trouble and doing odd jobs for the Inquisition and Sera's many 'friends'.

She ran into Vivienne on her way through the palace grounds, exchanging pleasantries. Vivienne referred to the entire council as "foolish posturing." Antonia only hoped she'd be proven correct.

At the top of the stairs, she found the Fereldan delegation. They moved aside to let her pass, and she came face to face with a sour-faced man who looked as though he was either in the middle of or just past a serious illness.

"Inquisitor," said a servant standing nearby, "this is Arl Teagan of Redcliffe. Arl Teagan, the Inquisitor."

"Arl. I apologize that we weren't able to meet before." The time she had spent in Redcliffe had hardly been pleasant for her, and the Arl had missed all of it, except to send displeased messages about how she had handled his mess.

"Yes," he said. "It is a pity."

"How is Redcliffe faring these days?"

"Blessedly quiet. The mayor conveys his greetings; Redcliffe remembers its savior." His tone lacked a certain sincerity, but Antonia let it pass.

"I was happy to be able to help."

"Indeed." In a different tone, he said, "I'm glad you've finally arrived, Inquisitor. The crown is anxious for news."

If Alistair was so anxious, why hadn't he written to her, or come here himself, Antonia wondered, but she wasn't about to share those thoughts. Instead, she asked, "What are your thoughts on Ferelden's position?"

"Those are more properly given in the Council itself, but I will say this: The Breach is long gone, yet Skyhold's army remains. Ferelden can't continue to ignore soldiers on its borders."

"Soldiers commanded by a Fereldan," Antonia reminded him.

"Commander Cullen's loyalty is to the Inquisition. That has been amply demonstrated." Teagan glanced at the gold ring on Antonia's finger.

"I can see how the Inquisition's presence might cause concern, but we have always had a good relationship with Ferelden."

"Yes, as long as we don't complain about—" Teagan caught himself. "Again, a conversation more properly reserved for the Council itself. At the least, I can tell you we will be demanding a reduction of your military forces."

Ferelden wasn't in a position to demand anything from the Inquisition, Antonia wanted to remind him, but of course, that wasn't entirely true. Isolated as Skyhold was, it was dependent on trade routes through both Ferelden and Orlais. It couldn't easily survive a rift with either country.

Teagan shook his head. "A power without allegiance to either Ferelden or Orlais? Even I see that neither of our countries can let it rest." He nodded abruptly, terminating the conversation.

As she left him, Antonia mulled over his last statement. That was really the crux of the problem, wasn't it? Ferelden and Orlais were back at it, pushing and pulling at each other, and the Inquisition was the taffy caught between, to be pulled out of shape and torn apart and eventually devoured in their struggle.

In the fancier, more heavily decorated area set aside for the Orlesian delegation, she saw a familiar figure; the elegant robes and even more elegant mustache of Dorian Pavus. She quickened her steps, returning the smile that lit his face when he saw her.

He was talking to a masked Orlesian who introduced himself as Lord Cyril de Montfort. "Inquisitor. I was just telling Lord Pavus that Orlais is completely aware of what a valuable asset the Inquisition's support is. We would not jeopardize that lightly."

Before Antonia could respond, Dorian said, "Is that why the Orlesian court is circling the Inquisition with a net and a collar? To compel that support when and where Orlais deems it most valuable?"

"Surely that is an overstatement," Lord Cyril protested. "Orlais wishes only to offer respectful guidance to the Inquisition."

"'Respectful guidance' seems to indicate that Orlais no longer feels the Inquisition should rule itself."

"I do not believe anyone would go so far as to say such a thing, no," Lord Cyril said carefully. "On the other hand, given the stated aims of Ferelden, perhaps we could say that Orlais would rather see the Inquisition join us freely than be carved into pieces for the chessboard."

Same story, different form. Ferelden and Orlais, both attempting to use the Inquisition against each other. If Skyhold weren't herself such an important part of the Inquisition, Antonia's first reaction would have been to move the entire operation to somewhere in the Free Marches, far away from these two countries' never-ending squabbles.

"Inquisitor," Lord Cyril said earnestly, "I have not forgotten Justinia's death. I had friends who perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

"Many of us did." Antonia didn't like to think about it.

"As you say. More than the good you have done, it is the good we can do together that I do not wish to lose. The Inquisition and Orlais can be a powerful force for good in the world."

For whose good? Antonia wondered. "A noble sentiment, my lord, and one I will certainly give some thought to."

Lord Cyril bowed slightly. "Whatever happens, Inquisitor, _I_ wish you well."

"Thank you, my lord."

As Lord Cyril took his leave, she turned eagerly to Dorian. "It's so good to see you!" She hugged him, smelling the familiar spicy scent of his Tevinter cologne.

"My dear friend. It has been entirely too long."

"My sentiments exactly. When are you coming home?"

He glanced at her briefly. "I have … some things to clear up in the Imperium first, I'm afraid, so it may be some little time yet. This Ambassadorship took me rather by surprise."

"You seem to have been busy talking to everyone; what have you learned about the lay of the land?"

Dorian sighed. "We have certainly been spared the burden of any surprises. Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry wishes to meddle, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador, to make it clear just how inconsequential the Imperium believes this is."

"How is it that you ended up as the one, then?" Antonia asked.

"How did they put it? Oh, yes. A 'reward for my interest in the south'. It's largely a token appointment, however, so you should feel free to call on me as you wish." He looked her over and started to speak, but hesitated and seemed to think better of it. "Is Cullen here?"

"You don't think he'd let me walk into the lion's den alone, do you? Of course he's here."

Dorian took her arm. "Good. Let's go say hello."


	113. Some Kind of Maudlin Love Story

_Thank you all for reading! I'm behind on my replies to individual reviews, but I hope to catch up this week. (A/N: In this universe, Aveline is Viscountess of Kirkwall.) _

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_25 Solace, 9:44_

Antonia glanced up at the sky; she was going to be late to Varric's card game if she didn't hurry. Jogging up the steps toward Cassandra's private apartments, she met Josephine coming down. Josephine was wearing a fine gown in a rich blue that flattered her coloring nicely. "Not coming to the game?"

"I … have other plans." The Ambassador gave her a small, shy smile.

"All right, where is he?"

"He?"

"Blackwall. Thom Rainier. I haven't seen him yet."

"Well, then, come with me and say hello. Briefly."

Antonia laughed. "I wouldn't dream of wasting your night." She winked at her ambassador. "Cullen will be pleased that you're not attending the game this evening. I think he still worries that he's going to end the night without his clothes."

"Please, Inquisitor, isn't that between you and him?"

They both chuckled at that, and the familiar rough voice of Blackwall came at them from the darkness. "There's a sound I've only heard in my dreams for far too long. Oh, Inquisitor, didn't see you there."

"I can tell." He only had eyes for Josephine. "I won't keep either one of you, just wanted to say hello, Thom."

"I'm glad you did. It's been too long."

"How are the Wardens treating you?"

"Well enough." He looked briefly down at his hands. "It's good to be amongst other people with pasts they don't speak of."

"And you helped kill the biggest darkspawn of them all; that has to help."

Blackwall smiled. "It doesn't hurt. And you, Inquisitor, how have you been? I hear you have a fine bouncing baby boy."

"Yes. Just over a year old now. Spitting image of his father."

"Cullen must be busting his buttons."

Antonia smiled. "He is." There was a moment's silence while Josephine and Blackwall looked at one another, and Antonia said, "Not that I blame you for wanting a night to yourselves, but I do want you to know that if you wished to join the game tonight, you'd be welcome."

"I thank you for the thought, Inquisitor. I'll be here as long as you need me for this, so I'm sure we'll talk again."

"Looking forward to it."

She watched them walk off arm in arm. Both Josephine and Blackwall seemed comfortable with the lives they had chosen for themselves; possibly Antonia was being a romantic fool to wish for more on their behalf.

The others were waiting for her in Cassandra's rooms: Dorian, with shadows under his eyes but a semblance of his usual demon-may-care smile on his face; Cullen, jacket off and cards in his hand, relaxed as he rarely was outside their own quarters; the Iron Bull, his eye lighting up when he saw her; Varric, urbane and suave and impeccably tailored. And Cassandra, a martial light in her eyes, apparently having forgotten everything she'd learned about playing cards with this assemblage of cheats and cardsharps.

Hugs were exchanged all around, and then Antonia stood her three boys in front of her. "Let me look at all of you. Now, 'fess up. What trouble are you all in?"

Dorian glanced away, concerned looks sent in his direction by both of the others.

The Iron Bull's face was clear and open, no worries there. She saw him regularly, anyway.

Varric cleared his throat. "I might as well go first. I have some news you might find entertaining."

"We going to play cards while you flap your jaw?" the Iron Bull asked, taking the deck from Cullen and riffling through to see if the cards were marked.

Cullen protested, but mostly out of form. They all knew he didn't cheat. In this crowd, that meant they also all knew he rarely won.

"Fine, Tiny, you deal." Varric took his seat and waited until all the others were sitting. "You ready for this one?"

"What have you done this time?" Antonia asked.

"So suspicious! I'll have you know I am in the worst trouble of my life, and I swear, I did nothing at all to deserve it." Varric grinned, studying his cards, drawing out the suspense.

"Of course you did." There was a shy pride in Cassandra's eyes as she looked at the dwarf from behind her cards.

Dorian heaved a disgusted sigh. "What this grandiloquent boaster is trying not to tell you is that he has been appointed Seneschal of Kirkwall."

"You what?!" Cullen spat the mouthful of ale he had just taken across the table, to loud shouts as it spattered the cards.

"Oh, you needed a new deck, anyway. Varric had already marked this one," Antonia said. "Varric, what in Thedas?"

He gave her a comical frown. "It turns out, you fund enough reconstruction efforts, they figure you know what you're doing—"

"Or that you have more money than you know what to do with," put in the Iron Bull, watching Dorian's hands as he shuffled the new deck.

"Or that," Varric agreed, "and the Viscountess sticks you with all the work." He smiled. "Or Aveline wanted to be sure I'd stick around for a while."

"Couldn't you have said no?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose, but someone's got to do it."

Antonia looked at him sadly. "I was hoping to tempt you into coming back to Skyhold. Wicked Grace hasn't been the same since you left."

Next to her, Cullen muttered something under his breath that sounded like "and thank the Maker for that," making the Iron Bull guffaw. Their Wicked Grace games against each other were legendary. Cullen was the only person the Iron Bull played cards with whom the Qunari felt was good enough to be worth not cheating against.

"I know," Varric said softly, and with an unusual sincerity. "But Kirkwall's home, and they need me."

"What does Hawke say to that?" Antonia didn't look in Cassandra's direction; as Divine, Cassandra could hardly have an open relationship with anyone, much less an irreverent, if Andrastian, dwarf. Still, though, Kirkwall wasn't that far from Val Royeaux …

"Still in hiding. Apparently Broody thinks half of Tevinter is after his markings, and she's just as happy not to be in the limelight. I think Aveline was hoping if she kept me in Kirkwall, Hawke would come back, too, but so far, no dice." He cleared his throat. "Ah, before I get distracted, I got you a sort of present."

"Me?"

"Of course." He rummaged in a drawer and came up with a handful of papers, which he handed across to Antonia. "Official recognition of your title and holdings in Kirkwall."

Cullen's head snapped up from the cards, and he stared at Varric with a stricken expression on his face.

"Yeah … it's changed a lot, Curly. There might be … You might like it better now."

"Varric," Antonia said, "I don't have a title and holdings in Kirkwall."

"You do now. Your estate is pretty nice. A lot nicer than it was when Fenris lived in it, that's for sure." He looked uncomfortably between Cullen and Antonia. "Look, none of us know what's going to happen with this Council. I just … whatever happens, you have a place to go, where you have friends. Also, you're a comtesse now. Congratulations." He looked at Cullen, raising an eyebrow. "Which makes you a comte. Welcome to the titled people."

"Just what I always wanted," Cullen muttered, then he relented a little. "Thank you for the thought, Varric. It is comforting to know we have friends we can turn to if we need them."

Antonia smiled. "Exactly what I was going to say."

They played in unusual silence for a few minutes, while Varric and the Iron Bull kept glancing at Dorian expectantly and Dorian kept his eyes on his cards.

Finally Antonia couldn't take it any longer. "Out with it, Pavus! Whatever it is … please just tell me and get it over with."

"It can wait," he muttered.

"Sparkler, just tell her," Varric said.

"I don't want to ruin everyone's night."

Antonia put her cards down, face up, to indicate how little she cared about finishing the hand. "Now you have to tell me," she said firmly.

"Come on, _kadan_," the Iron Bull said. "She's gonna have to know eventually."

"Fine." Dorian glanced at Antonia but couldn't hold her gaze. "When the Exalted Council has ended, I'm going back to Tevinter."

"But I thought this ambassadorship was a temporary thing."

"It was." He looked down at the table. "Really, this isn't—"

Antonia put her hand over his. "Tell me."

"My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe."

"Dorian, I'm sorry." He and his father had not been close, but they had been taking steps to repair the rift in their relationship. For Dorian to lose him now seemed like such a waste of opportunities.

"Thank you." He gave an attempt at his usual sardonic smile. "I received a perversely cheerful note this morning, notifying me of his passing and congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. A very difficult balance to strike, but they managed to pull it off."

"Is that automatic, as his son?" Cassandra asked.

"No. He must have left it to me; I had no idea. We'd never discussed it." Dorian's face crumpled for a moment before he got himself under control again. "We didn't even manage to see each other when I was home last. Too busy, we said. Next time. That'll teach me." He shook his head. "I'm told this ambassadorship was his doing; my only guess is that he wanted me away, that he saw this coming and tried to protect me."

"I understand why you have to go back," Antonia said, squeezing his hand. "You know how much I'll miss you."

"Naturally," he said, with a faint smile.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if the Iron Bull was going with him, but of course that would have been a stupid question. Dorian could hardly take a Qunari lover to the Imperium, not and have a prayer of not being assassinated himself. She wasn't even entirely sure that they were still lovers; the bond between them was deep, as was the affection, but it had mellowed over time.

"You need any help tracking down the killers, Sparkler, I can come up with some names."

Dorian nodded sharply. "I have names already. It's a matter of determining the best way to kill them back, a process I intend to enjoy."

"You'll need help," Antonia pointed out.

"Don't even suggest it," Cullen said, his tone brooking no argument.

"No. Not this time." Dorian looked at her stomach pointedly. "And may I add, congratulations?"

She looked at him. "You knew?"

"Of course. I can sense these things. I just wish … You know I can't be there this time."

"I know. I'll be all right."

Dorian and Cullen both looked at her skeptically. The Iron Bull frowned. "We'll be prepared, boss. I've got people looking for the best healers, specialists in this kind of thing."

"You knew, too?" Cullen asked, exasperated.

The Qunari shrugged. "Spymaster, remember? You don't hire one who doesn't know what's going on right under his nose."

"Also," Dorian said, in a stronger voice, more like his usual self, "a present."

"You, too? What is this, my birthday?"

"We're just looking out for you, Herald," Varric said.

She turned the crystal Dorian handed her over in her hand. "A sending crystal?"

"In case you ever … are overwhelmed with sorrow for lack of my velvety voice. Or … in case I get in over my head."

"Dorian." Tears were springing to her eyes, and while she knew part of the emotion was from the pregnancy, part of it was the idea of parting with this man who had been so much to her for so long. She threw her arms around him.

He held her just as tightly. "You are my dearest friend," he whispered in her ear. "And that will never change, no matter where we are."

"I love you, Dorian."

"And I you."

She pulled back, looking around the table. "I love all of you, you know that, right? I—none of this would ever have happened without you."

One hand was still enclosed in Dorian's, and now Cullen took the other, holding it against his heart. Varric was shuffling cards, his cheeks suspiciously wet. Cassandra's eyes rested on Antonia and Cullen's joined hands, an unusual softness in her face.

The Iron Bull roared, "Are we gonna play some fucking cards, or what here?" but his voice cracked halfway through, and he wiped roughly at his single eye to keep them from seeing the tear that trickled from it.

"Yeah, what Tiny said. Before we all descend into some kind of maudlin love story."

"You mean one you'll have to write up for Divine Victoria here to peruse?" Antonia grinned wickedly at both of them.

"Possibly." Varric snuck a glance in Cassandra's direction. She pursed her lips and pretended not to have heard the question.

Dorian raised his eyebrows. "Not going to share the details of your sordid tryst? Tsk. After you've written everyone else's story, too, Varric."

"I, for one, appreciate your discretion," Cullen said.

"Well, you're the only one." The Iron Bull leaned across the table toward the dwarf. "Details. Does she wear the hat to bed?"

Cassandra flushed a dark red and sent the Qunari a glare that would have sent a lesser man to his knees begging for forgiveness.

Having recovered his equilibrium, Varric started dealing the cards again. "Wouldn't you like to know."

The Iron Bull sat back, looking at his cards. "Varric, you've been dealing me the same fucking hand for four years. Can't you, just once, get a little creative?"

"What, and take the chance of letting Curly win a hand? Never."

Cullen grumbled under his breath and the rest of them laughed, relieved to bring the conversation down a few notches.

Antonia hid behind her cards, thinking to herself that this might be the last time she ever sat around the card table with these people who meant so much to her. Much as she wanted to cry, she would rather enjoy the moment, she decided, and she pushed her sorrow away, placing her bet.


	114. Another Fereldan Stranded

_A/N: There will be no updates next week, but regular schedule will resume the following week. Thank you all for reading and for your enthusiasm and support!  
_

* * *

_26 Solace, 9:44_

When Antonia and Josephine went off to attend the opening of the Exalted Council, Cullen was left largely to his own devices. Cassandra as Divine and Dorian as Tevinter ambassador and Varric as representative of Kirkwall were all also part of the Council, as was Vivienne, representing the College of Magi; even Phoenix was stretched out next to the door, waiting patiently for his mistress to emerge from inside. The Iron Bull was meeting up with the Chargers, giving them their assignments. And Cullen had little interest in spending time with Sera or Cole.

He supposed he could be sitting in on the Council also, but he knew perfectly well that he would spend all the time either bored or angry, neither of which would be helpful. He wasn't of much more help strolling the grounds of Halamshiral, but at least he could keep his eyes open and try to prevent surprises from jumping out of the woodwork when least expected.

"Commander. What a surprise running into you here."

Startled, he looked at the woman who had suddenly appeared next to him. She tipped her hood back just far enough that he could see the familiar red hair and blue eyes. "Leli—"

He broke off when she raised a finger to her lips. "Please. No names. The Left Hand of the Divine has retired; it would do no one any good were she to be known to be in attendance."

"Why are you?" he asked.

"Do you think I could stay away when forces are threatening to tear the Inquisition into pieces? I had as much to do with forming it as anyone else; I won't stand by and let it happen without giving what assistance I can."

Cullen nodded. "Of course. I'm glad to see you here."

"Walk with me, will you?"

She looked around them at the opulent surroundings as they strolled. "I was eighteen when I first came to the Winter Palace, and I was dazzled by it all. It's all still as bright as it was then, but I no longer see the same things in the rich hangings and the golden lions."

"What do you see now?"

"It seems so cold. Compared to the simple surroundings where I live now, and the love that fills every moment … Those who caused the Winter Palace to be built cared only what it looked like, not what the troubles of those who put in place all this marble might be, or what else of substance might have been built with all this expense." She sighed. "It is easier on the heart just to see the gilding in a place you have loved as I once loved the Winter Palace … but easier still to go home to where there is no gilding."

"How is Thomas?"

"He is well. He sends his regards to you and to our dear Inquisitor. How is she? And your lovely son?"

"Both well." He hesitated, wanting to confide his concerns about the pregnancy, but something held the words back.

"Very wise. Even to a friend, it is best to avoid letting the Inquisitor seem vulnerable."

"You, too?" Did everyone know these things before he did?

"I can guess, from your pause and the trouble in your face, but it would be a guess only." She looked around them, then, more quietly, said, "You feel it, too, no? Fear. That is where all of this comes from."

"I suppose I would fear anyone with our vault of secrets and our forces."

Leliana shook her hooded head. "It is not our secrets, nor our soldiers. There have always been spymasters and private armies. They are afraid of nothing so much as the hand that directs it all."

Cold fear gripped his heart. "Antonia."

"Precisely. Already her actions have begun to reshape Thedas; her influence is felt everywhere." She shook her head. "I am only surprised it took them this long to move against her, and that they chose to do so this straightforwardly."

"You mean, you thought there would be an assassination."

"It was a possibility; the Iron Bull and I discussed it in depth before I left. But I confess, I thought they would try to discredit her rather than take the chance of making her a martyr."

With some pride, Cullen said, "She has nothing to hide."

"A rarity amongst individuals, indeed." Leliana gave him an indulgent smile. "As it happens, that must have been the conclusion of her enemies, as well, since here we are. And, indeed, here we are." They were stopped in front of a small shop. Leliana turned to look at him. "Before we go meet the … individual I wanted you to meet, let me say this to you: The Inquisition's time is coming to an end. It set out to restore peace, and peace is upon us. It is up to the Rutherfords to determine how the Inquisition will face that peace."

"Up to Antonia, you mean."

"You think you have no influence on how she decides? You underestimate yourself, as always. Now … inside here, you will find another Fereldan stranded in the Winter Palace. I think he might be useful to you."

"Will I see you again?"

"I will be here as long as the Inquisition needs me. And, Cullen, whatever you decide, I will be honored to stand beside you."

She melted back into a nearby doorway, ducking through and disappearing, leaving Cullen with a feeling of disquiet.

He went into the shop. The shopkeeper looked over his spectacles at him. "You'd be the Commander of the Inquisition, then? I was told you'd be coming by. Come for the dog?"

"Dog?"

"Indeed, messere. One of those …" he hesitated, and Cullen supplied "Mabari?" The shopkeeper nodded. "That's the word. He was left here by a noble, must have gotten bored with the beast. Wasn't sure what I would do with 'im, but the redhead said—"

"Of course. May I speak to him?"

"To—? Oh, to the dog. I don't see why not."

Cullen wasn't sure what they needed with another mabari; Phoenix and Lucky were a lot already. But then he thought of Vel, left behind at Skyhold, and the new life on the way. His child, he thought, the fear easing just long enough for him to think of the shadowy presence of another baby, one he hadn't met yet. Perhaps a third mabari, one for the children, was required.

The dog was brought in, moving unresistingly but with little interest on the leash. He stopped and looked up at Cullen curiously.

"Ser," Cullen said gravely, bowing. "Cullen Rutherford, Commander of the Inquisition." He liked the look of the animal. Dark grey with some markings of white, and clearly quite intelligent. Maybe two years old, maybe a little older? "Perhaps you would be interested in listening to my proposition."

The dog gave a faint yip.

"All right, then. I have … a small son who could use a companion. How do you feel about children?"

A happier yip this time, a measuring expression in the dog's brown eyes.

"Would you consider coming on as the boy's companion, and that of any others who might come along?"

Deftly, the dog slipped his head out of the leash and came to Cullen's side.

The shopkeeper had been staring at the whole conversation as if trying to decide who in this room was completely crazy. "So, you're taking him, then?"

Cullen nodded. "What do I owe you for his care and upkeep?"

"Oh, nothing at all. My needs have been settled."

Leliana. Cullen smiled. He wondered briefly if Thomas's Irving was still around, and if so, how the old dog was doing. "In that case, I bid you good day, ser."

"And you, messere."

It felt better to be walking the paths of Halamshiral with company. This new lad would need a name, but Cullen felt strange about choosing one for him without Antonia's approval, since Vel was too young to name the animal himself.

"Let me tell you about my son, who will be your charge," he said to the dog, who cocked his head to the side, listening intently.

* * *

_A/N: Dog remains unnamed; I would happily take suggestions!  
_


	115. His Fellow Qunari

_Thanks for reading, everyone!  
_

* * *

_26 Solace, 9:44_

Antonia tried her best to focus on the talks, she really did, but it had been a late night the night before, the pregnancy was wearing on her, and Teagan's list of the Inquisition's 'crimes' against Ferelden seemed practically endless. Her eyelids drooped.

It seemed more than evident that whatever the Inquisition had done to help Ferelden was long forgotten, and the animosity that practically rolled off the Arl made Antonia simultaneously sad and nauseous. Lord Cyril was positioning himself carefully to seem more reasonable than Teagan but to avoid sounding as though he was in favor of the Inquisition continuing as its own independent entity.

Then a blonde elf in Inquisition scout armor crept in, crouching at Antonia's elbow. "Inquisitor, your spymaster requests your presence."

"Right now?"

"He says it's very important."

Antonia tried to hide her elation as she leaned over to Josephine. "Can you get by without me?"

There was both outrage and resignation in Josephine's eyes. Poor thing, she deserved a much more politically able Inquisitor.

"My lords, please excuse me. A pressing matter requires my attention." She ignored Teagan's loud protests as she left the room, breathing a sigh of relief as she exited. Phoenix got immediately to his feet. "Come on, boy, let's go see what Bull needs."

The Iron Bull was kneeling over the body of a heavily armored and very dead Qunari. "Hey, boss."

"How did a Qunari get into the Winter Palace?" Antonia asked.

"You got me." There was an odd expression on the Iron Bull's face as he looked at the dead warrior. "First time I've seen one of my own people in … a long time, and he's dead as a fucking doornail."

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Just … not what I expected." He sighed. "I wish I could tell you something about why this guy would be here, but I haven't heard a thing in a long time. He's a karashok; where there's one, there's always more." He nudged the body over onto its side. "Most of these wounds come from magic, but a few are from a blade."

"Doesn't narrow it down much."

"No."

Antonia sighed. "Deadly mysteries at the Winter Palace. Haven't we already done this?"

The Iron Bull gave her a distracted half-smile. "Seems like it." He got to his feet, searching the ground around the body. "There's blood here. And more there." Squinting his eye, he said, "There's a trail of it. You want me to get Dorian and Varric?"

"Yes." She looked down at her formal uniform. "Time to retire this, as well. I'll go change and meet you back here."

The elf who had come to her in the Council, one of the Iron Bull's people, was detailed to watch the body and the blood trail, and they both headed off to get the team ready for whatever they might find.

Following the blood trail once they had reassembled, Antonia said, "I feel badly leaving Josephine to handle the Council alone."

"Not to worry," Dorian said breezily. "It'll be all speeches and posturing the first few days. If they get down to any real business at all, it will be just at the end when everyone's so tired they'll agree to anything just to get out of those uncomfortable chairs."

"The Divine will make sure they don't decide anything in your absence," Varric assured her, and then actually flushed as all three of them turned to grin at him. "What?"

"Nothing. You can tell me all about it later," the Iron Bull said.

"In your dreams, Tiny."

The trail led them to an eluvian. Antonia stared at it. "How in the Void does a Qunari warrior come to the Winter Palace through an eluvian?"

"Found one in the jungle somewhere?" the Iron Bull suggested.

"And then learned how to use it?"

"Could've, maybe from an elven viddathari."

"I guess we'll have to go through." Antonia sighed. Couldn't anything just be in the real world, nice and straightforward? She was suddenly envious of Thomas Amell getting to fight a big dragon. She could fight a big dragon.

"After you, boss."

"Right." And she stepped through.

As so often seemed to happen, the straightforward turned into the complex; strange elven ruins, a long series of eluvians to go through … and then more Qunari, who attacked on sight, calling out for "the Inquisition" to be killed in their tracks.

The Iron Bull mowed through his fellow Qunari with as much enthusiasm as he showed for anything she asked him to fight, but she had to wonder. He'd been away from Seheron, away from the Qun, away from people who looked like him, for such a long time. Surely he must feel some conflict about it.

When the Qunari were down, he stood over them, panting, his sword thrown across his shoulder. "They're not Tal-Vashoth, boss. I don't know what they're doing here or what they want or why they want you dead so bad, but they _think_ they're following the Qun."

"Is that helpful?"

"It might be. Or it might mean we should be bracing ourselves for a full-scale invasion."

"You're such a ray of sunshine, Tiny."

The Iron Bull shook his head, his face somber. "Just telling it like I see it, Varric. They're acting like we're at war."

"Are we?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, boss. I wish I did."

"I suggest we do our best to stop that from occurring," Dorian said.

"I'm with you." Antonia took a moment to squeeze the Iron Bull's arm, and then they descended together into the depths of the ruined temple.


	116. War Table

_Thank you all for reading! I really appreciate it.  
_

* * *

_26 Solace, 9:44_

On the other side of the eluvians, back in Val Royeaux, Antonia and the boys scattered: the Tevinter ambassador to liberate Josephine from the talks, the Seneschal of Kirkwall to hastily throw together a War Table in the Divine's rooms, the Spymaster of the Inquisition in search of 'something they were going to need', about which he refused to be more specific. The Inquisitor went looking for her Commander, finding him in the gardens with a strange dog.

Phoenix woofed questioningly, looking up at Antonia, who shrugged and passed the same questioning look on to Cullen. He stood up, looking only faintly sheepish.

"The storekeeper said his owners tired of the novelty. Mabari aren't an Orlesian breed … could I leave a fellow Fereldan trapped in these surroundings?"

"No, I suppose you couldn't." She looked down at her own dog. "What do you think, Phoenix?"

Stiff-legged, the mabari walked over to sniff noses with the newcomer. After a few yips, both animals sat back, seeming to have reached an understanding.

Antonia smiled. "I guess he's part of the family now."

"I was thinking Vel could use a protector, as could anyone else who might come along." Cullen looked at her stomach, a smile crossing his face, and relief bubbled inside Antonia at the clear evidence that he was coming around to being excited about the new baby. But his smile faded as he noticed that she was back in armor, and that the armor had been used today. "What did you find?"

"Come with me; we might as well fill everyone in together."

In the Divine's rooms, everyone was assembled, including the familiar and much-missed face of Leliana.

Antonia threw her arms around the older woman in happy surprise. "I didn't know you were going to be here."

"Of course you didn't. And I'm not." She cast a faint frown in the Iron Bull's direction. "Or I wouldn't be, if the Inquisition's spymaster wasn't a bit too good at his job."

"What can I say, I can spot a beautiful redhead a mile away."

"Well, now that I have you all together …" Antonia sighed before filling them all in on the dead Qunari in the Winter Palace, the eluvians, the Qunari in the forgotten space between eluvians, what Morrigan had once called the Crossroads, and the evidence that a powerful mage was stalking and killing the Qunari. "I don't know why the Qunari are coming here, why they've chosen now, or who this mage is," Antonia finished.

Leliana looked at her, eyebrows raised. "You don't know why the Qunari are coming here and why now? Why do you think Alistair and Celene aren't here? This Exalted Council is an excellent time and place for the Qunari—or anyone, really—to make a powerful statement to all of Thedas. The Divine, the leadership of the Inquisition, powerful representatives from Ferelden, Orlais, the Imperium, and the Free Marches … I think the better question is whether this Exalted Council was pushed along by agents of the Qunari."

All eyes turned to the Iron Bull, and he growled in frustration. "I don't know. They cut off my sources when I was declared Tal-Vashoth. I can look at a crowd of faces and tell you which ones are most likely to be Ben-Hassrath, but I'd only be right about two-thirds of the time. They're that good."

Dorian said, "So we can proceed under the assumption that there are Qunari spies at the Exalted Council."

"If not within the Inquisition itself." Josephine spoke gravely, her eyes wide and a little fearful. Antonia understood the emotion; Skyhold was their safe haven. No one wanted to think it had been infiltrated by spies they didn't know about. But of course it would have been; that was life, and politics. "But it makes no sense! The Qunari may not be friendly to the Inquisition, but they have no reason to attack us."

"You're not of the Qun," the Iron Bull said heavily. "That's all the reason they need. You may be a valuable target, which is even more important."

"What concerns me more is their use of eluvians," Leliana said. "Qunari don't trust magic in general; why would they trust magic mirrors for such an important mission?"

"I had the mirror placed under guard, by people no one would suspect to be agents of ours. If anyone goes near it, I'll know." The Iron Bull looked as troubled as Antonia had ever seen him. Whether he was more bothered by the enemy being his people or by his failure to know what they were doing or what they wanted, Antonia couldn't have ventured to guess.

"Just when we thought we'd won through to some peace and quiet." Instinctively, Antonia put a hand to her stomach.

Cullen's eyes followed the movement of her hand, concern and sadness in his face. "First the Blight, then mages and Templars, then Corypheus, and now this," he said wearily. "Can't we go ten years without the world falling to pieces?"

"We must ensure that the Qunari do not disrupt the negotiations. The Exalted Council is in a very delicate state." Josephine bristled when they all looked at her in surprise. "Have we forgotten why the Exalted Council was called?" she asked, her Antivan accent thickening. "These people threaten our very existence! I am not going to stand by and allow the Inquisition to be dismantled because we became distracted by Qunari invaders!" She looked around the room at all of them. "Our only advantage is that Orlais and Ferelden are divided in goal and grievance."

"No, they're not." Antonia stood her ground, despite Josephine's glare. "They both have the same goal—to use the Inquisition as a tool in their unspoken war against each other. And the same grievance—that a powerful entity crouches on their border, ready to get in the middle of any attempt either country should make to attack the other. How we use that to our advantage, I don't know." She rubbed a hand over her face. "Could we use the Qunari to remind everyone how valuable the Inquisition still is? After all, neither Ferelden nor Orlais wants to take on the Qunari. If we did, surely that would buy us a few years of goodwill, of being seen as a protective force and not as a threatening one."

"We would have to know more," Josephine said. "Until then, the appearance of the Qunari looks as though we attracted them here." She sighed. "I will attend to the Exalted Council while the rest of you handle the Qunari."

"I'll help you," Varric said unexpectedly. "What?" he asked when Antonia frowned at him. "You can get Sera or Cole to go fight with you. Ruffles here is going to need someone backing her up. Sparkler would be a better choice, but no one trusts the Imperium any more than they do the Qunari, and you're going to need his magic fingers."

"Thank you, Varric," Josephine said.

"Don't thank me yet, Ruffles. You haven't seen my bill." He winked at her.

The group broke up, everyone scattering to their various jobs.

Cullen took Antonia by the arm. "You're coming with me."

"Where to?"

"I'm taking you to bed." As she started to protest, he slid his arm around her waist, making it clear he was taking no arguments. "We don't know what you'll be facing, when you'll have another chance to rest, or what kind of a toll the pregnancy is taking on your body, your energy, and your resilience already. You are going to sleep and eat properly before this all starts so that I know you're at your best and most rested when you take on whatever's ahead."

Sleep did sound heavenly; Antonia was exhausted. "Yes, Commander," she said meekly.

"Now, that's what I like to hear."


	117. Stopping to Worry

_Thank you for reading!  
_

* * *

_26 Solace, 9:44_

After feeding Antonia a decent meal, Cullen got her to bed, lying next to her to make sure she actually rested. He looked down at her as they lay there together. Despite the years, and the marriage, and the child they shared, it was still such a surprise to find himself here with her. "Maker, you're a lovely sight."

She smiled, her eyes closed. "You need your vision checked."

"Well, I admit I could do without the dark shadows under your eyes, my light."

Antonia snuggled back more firmly against him. "Do you remember the first time we came to the Winter Palace?"

"Could I forget? All those people crowding around me asking me everything from the date I lost my virginity to the name of my great-grandmother's next-door neighbor."

"Imagine that, you as the center of attention."

"You would think they'd have better things to do."

"Than look at you? Never."

Cullen chuckled, wrapping his arm around her. "Now who needs their vision checked?" He bent, kissing her cheek. "Still, I would endure far worse things than that for you."

"And I would always be there to rescue you."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes." It was a mere sigh. Antonia's eyelids fluttered closed, then opened again, slowly. "Are you glad of that?"

He brushed his cheek against hers, chuckling softly. "Very much so."

Against him, he could feel her breathing deepen and even as she slid into sleep, and he lay there next to her for a long while just listening to her, his hand resting on her abdomen. Somewhere deep inside her, their child was growing, and he breathed a prayer to the Maker for the safety of both mother and baby, for good health and a quick ending to this Qunari mess.

He thought of Vel, back at Skyhold, toddling around, possibly beginning to speak. It had only been a few days, but they seemed an eternity, reminding Cullen of all the times he had waited at Skyhold while Antonia journeyed across lower Thedas. He was glad to be here now, glad to be able to support her and care for her as she fought, again, for the fate of the world.

And while he was filled with pride in her, knowing that she would throw herself into this fight as she had all the others, that she would do what was needed for Thedas without stopping to worry about whether it was what was best for her, Cullen had to admit, shameful as it might be, that he wished she didn't have to. He wanted his wife, his family, and he wanted peace in which to enjoy them. And he didn't want to have to apologize for it.

If the Maker thought less of him, so be it.

Carefully he disentangled himself from her. If he didn't get up, he would fall asleep, and he knew from experience that these troubled thoughts would lead to nightmares. He didn't need that right now, and Antonia needed it even less.

Leaving Phoenix and the new dog on guard duty together, he went down to the tavern. The Inquisition had more or less taken it over, and he was glad to be among their own people.

Sera sat down on the table near where his elbow rested, and laughed when he gave her a suspicious look. She shook her head at him. "No pranks for you. No hams, no bees, no jars of sticky fluffy white goo. More's the pity, too."

"I see Meryden's turning you into a poet." He frowned at her.

"Rhyme, shryme, crime. Crime," Sera repeated, giggling. When he didn't smile, she crossed her arms and glared at him. "Look at you, stick in your arse again. Thought it'd gone."

Cullen shook his head, looking down into his mug of cider.

"Hey, Jackboots." Sera's tone was unusually serious. "You notice something squirrelly with the elf servants?"

He glanced at her, then away. "Is this about them, or about you?"

"Oh, aren't you the clever arse. You want to hear, or not?"

"Go on."

"The servants aren't complainin'. No asking for a Jenny. Serving this lot, you think they'd all be happy? That's a laugh."

"The nobles are nice and the servants are happy? That's the problem?" Cullen wasn't sure he was getting her point..

"Yeah!" Sera was staring at him as though he were very stupid. "Two things that are never true, duh."

He thought about that for a moment. "You have a point."

"Too right I do." She hopped down from the table. "Get on it."

"Will do."

Once she had left, he wondered exactly what he was supposed to do about happy servants. Shout at them until they started complaining again? That didn't seem to be quite the right approach.

Across the tavern, he could hear the Chargers singing, and he smiled. That was the answer; he'd give the problem to the Iron Bull. That was his job now, after all.

He crossed the room, explaining what Sera had said. The Iron Bull frowned. "Good for Sera. She's got a good head on her shoulders. When it's on straight, anyway."

"So what can we do?"

"To make the servants miserable?" the Iron Bull shrugged. "Not much, really. Mostly we'll just have to watch and see what they do. I'll get some people on it. I've already got a couple of servants planted; maybe they'll hear something." He looked at Cullen seriously. "How's the boss?"

"Exhausted. Not taking care of herself."

"We'll keep an eye on her. You know what's going on with her hand?"

"Something, but she won't tell me." Cullen sighed. "I can't decide if I admire her fortitude or despair of her stubbornness."

"Nothing wrong with a little of both."

Cullen studied the scarred face of the Qunari. "How are you holding up?"

"Me?" The Iron Bull looked surprised by the question. "Mostly wish I hadn't burnt all my contacts. I hate not knowing what the fuck is going on."

"Wouldn't that mean you'd be on their side right now?"

"Yeah. Maybe. Probably. Still … at least I'd know things. I like knowing things."

Cullen clapped the big man on the shoulder. "We like you right where you are."

"Thanks. And don't worry about the boss; we'll take care of her. We've had a lot of practice."

Nodding, Cullen tried to let that promise make him feel better … but it didn't, quite.


	118. The Anchor

_Many thanks to all of you for reading!  
_

* * *

_27 Solace, 9:44_

They were in the Deep Roads, unaccountably enough. The eluvian had led them here, to a massive Qunari lyrium-mining operation. It all seemed so improbable that Antonia would have thought she was imagining it if it weren't for the all-too-real burning of the Anchor on her hand. She flexed it. The only thing that seemed to help when it got this bad was to let the power out of it in a burst, but she didn't want the others to see how often she needed to do that. She gritted her teeth against the pain, trying to ignore it.

"Boss," the Iron Bull said. "Your hand's doing that thing again."

Startled, Antonia hastily tucked her hand against her chest, cradling it with the other so no one could see.

The Iron Bull shook his head. Coming toward her, he gently pulled her hand away from her chest and turned it over. The Anchor was sparking green light, the mark having crawled all the way up to her wrist at this point. Antonia didn't need the Iron Bull's disappointed look to know how foolish she had been to think she could hide this from all of them.

"Maybe it can make itself useful down here?" she said somewhat sheepishly. She flexed her hand again, letting the Anchor dispel the energy that had collected in it and lighting up the hallway.

The Iron Bull was still frowning at her. "What are you gonna do about this, boss?"

"I don't know, Bull," she snapped, "and there's not much I can do about it standing here in the middle of the Deep Roads, surrounded by Qunari, is there?"

He let her hand, and the subject, go, but she could tell from his forbidding expression that he had no intention of putting it aside entirely.

But they had more to think about than her Anchor malfunctioning; the Qunari operation was startlingly vast, and also unstable, and they quickly determined that the best way to handle it was to blow it all up. They ran into an ex-Templar, shaking in the throes of lyrium withdrawal, who told them about the leader of the Qunari, whom he called the Viddasala. And he said something else that was strange—he said he didn't care if the Inquisition was serving Fen'Harel or not.

Antonia pumped him for as much credible, intelligible detail as she could get out of him in his state, and then let him go. The withdrawal would take him soon enough; might as well give him a chance to get clear of the Deep Roads first.

The Iron Bull was clearly disturbed. Antonia looked up at him. "What is it?"

"The Viddasala. She's high in the ranks of the Ben-Hassrath; specializes in magic. Finding, studying, stopping."

"Then what's she doing mining for lyrium?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders. "Not a fucking clue."

"And what's this about the Inquisition and Fen'Harel?" Sera asked. "You turn elfy and forget to tell me?"

Antonia shook her head. "I have no idea what he's talking about. I'm not particularly well-versed in elven lore, but I think I would have noticed if I'd pledged any allegiance to an elven trickster god."

Dorian frowned and started to speak, but apparently thought better of it, because he waved her away when she attempted to ask him what he'd been about to say.

Moving on through the Deep Roads, finally they fought their way to the center of the operation. They stared at the massive space filled with mining equipment. "Bull?"

"I see it. I just … don't know what it's for." From his tone, she could tell how much he hated making the admission. He was used to knowing what was going on in any given situation, and here were his own people digging up half of Thedas under his very nose and he was as in the dark as any of them.

"All this lyrium," Dorian said softly. "If the Qunari wanted to, they could make a fortune."

"Yeah. That's not what we—they—usually go for," the Iron Bull said, his eye still scanning the operations.

Dorian turned his head to look at his former lover. "Are you concerned about fighting your people?"

The Iron Bull shook his head. "I'm not Qunari anymore. Whatever they're doing, I'm ready to stop it."

"The Templar says they're preparing for an attack. What do you think, Bull?"

"Can you think of any other reason they'd need this much damned lyrium?" He growled in frustration. "I wish I knew—I wish I knew any fucking thing. I'm sorry, boss. I should know. I let you down."

She put her hand on his arm. "You did no such thing. Knowing what they were doing would have meant remaining a Qunari, letting the Chargers die all that time ago, keeping your loyalties constantly divided. It would have broken you eventually, and that's the last thing I would ever want."

His single eye was soft as he looked at her. "You've got a tender heart, boss. I hope someday it doesn't get you killed."

Antonia smiled. "Me, too."

They found the detonators and set off gaatlok canisters all over the mining operation, hurrying out of the Deep Roads just ahead of the collapsing of timbers and the rush of water flooding in. They stumbled over the body of the ex-Templar on the way out, to no one's particular surprise.

On the other side of the eluvian, Antonia sighed. "So who gets to tell Cullen and Josephine that we're probably at war with the Qun?"

Sera snorted, but the Iron Bull sighed heavily. "I will. It's my fault that I didn't know this was coming."

"It's not your fault," Antonia said, but he looked at her sadly with that single eye and turned away, not even bothering to argue the point.


	119. Viddasala

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_27 Solace, 9:44_

If Antonia had expected to be able to catch her breath, take a break, eat a meal, maybe celebrate the destruction of the Qunari lyrium mine, that illusion was shattered almost as soon as they had stepped out of the eluvian at the Winter Palace. An Orlesian servant and an elven scout from the Inquisition were in the middle of a scuffle, and Antonia was called to mediate in order to avoid an international incident.

On investigation, they found a barrel of gaatlok at the heart of the argument. Gaatlok in the Winter Palace was, of course, not good, and the Orlesian servant claimed not to know where it had come from, which meant Antonia had to go back through the eluvian, chasing the Qunari. She didn't even bother to try to see Cullen in the brief space between eluvian trips; it would only upset both of them.

She and her team made their way through the rocky, dismal Crossroads, as Morrigan had once called the space between eluvians, and through more eluvians following a confusing, fragmented path.

The Anchor was burning and aching in Antonia's palm almost constantly, with occasional flares of pain that she could no longer even try to hide.

After one particularly intense burst, Dorian stopped her, taking her hand in both of his and studying it carefully. "Have you noticed," he asked her, "that the flare-ups seem to take place whenever you are near an elven artifact?"

Antonia shook her head. It was hard to concentrate on anything during a burst other than the incredible pain. "Does that mean something I should understand?"

"Wish we had Solas here," the Iron Bull muttered. "I'd get some answers from him if I had to turn him upside down and shake him."

Dorian flashed his former lover a look before returning his focus to Antonia's hand. "I'll look into this more when we're back at the Winter Palace; Celene has a fairly extensive library. Surely there will be something there. Tell us if it gets any worse."

The Iron Bull snorted. "She's not going to tell us a damned thing, you know that."

Sera looked anxiously over Antonia's shoulder, then into her face, her eyes wide and worried. "You need to … to not get worse. Please?"

Antonia smiled, clenching her fist, wishing the Anchor would just go away. "I'll do my best," she told Sera.

They made their way further through the Crossroads, the twists and turns making Antonia's head hurt. It seemed to take forever to bring the Qunari to bay. By the time they caught them, in a large sunlit room that seemed filled with giant horned men, she was exhausted.

The Viddasala stood high above her on a platform of stone. "So, Inquisitor. We meet at last."

"What do you want?" Antonia snapped.

"Your duty is done. It is time to end your magic."

"Magic? I have no magic."

The Viddasala laughed derisively, her eyes on the Anchor. "Of course you do."

"It isn't too late to put our weapons down and talk."

"You think not? The Inquisition had its chance to ally with the Qunari, but instead it chose to ally itself with Fen'Harel. It is far too late for talk."

"Fen'Harel? I don't know what you mean."

"Don't insult my intelligence," the Viddasala snapped. "And there is no need to pretend that you are blind to what you have begun. This chaos in the south defies comprehension!"

"The Inquisition didn't cause that chaos!" Antonia shouted. "We're trying to fix it."

"It is too late to fix it! The Qun has left you people to curb your own magic, but you have amply proven that that was a mistake. We should have stepped in long ago."

Behind Antonia, the Iron Bull's voice was very soft. "Fuck."

"Is that what this Dragon's Breath is for?" Antonia asked. "Murdering our heads of state to control our mages? That's not a very good plan."

"Neither was assuming that closing the Breach solved everything." The Viddasala crossed her arms. "The day we saw the Breach, the Qun decided its action: We would remove your leaders and spare those who toil."

The Iron Bull said again, "Fuck."

"Did you know about this?" Dorian asked, so softly Antonia could barely hear him.

"No, but it's what I was afraid of."

The Viddasala went on as if she hadn't heard them, her voice rising in anger, "This agent of Fen'Harel has disrupted everything! Lives that were to be spared, lost to him!"

Who in Thedas was this agent? Antonia wondered. Perhaps they ought to have him on the payroll. Or at least find him so they could bring him in and talk to him. "Who is he?" she asked the Viddasala. "What makes you think he works for the Inquisition?"

The Viddasala ignored her completely, looking at the Qunari waiting so patiently, with such discipline. "Kill the Inquisitor, then follow me to the Darvaarad." She disappeared through the eluvian.

"Oh, shit." The Iron Bull had his sword up just in time, as several Qunari rushed him at once. Others attacked Dorian and Antonia, although they all seemed to ignore Sera completely. Or so it seemed to Antonia in the brief glimpses she had of the elf. Almost all of her focus was taken up by the three Qunari warriors who were surrounding her, and on trying to strike at them without getting injured. There was some advantage that they all used large two-handed weapons as well, so they weren't able to get in close and keep her blade from being useful, but it was still hard work. Sweat rolled down her face and got into her eyes.

She lost all track of time or tactics; everything became keeping the other three swords off her and trying to get a strike in where she could.

At last one of them fell, an arrow shaft embedded in his spine, but another one got a strike in during the moment Antonia took watching the first. Blood ran freely from a wound in her upper arm, her blade nearly falling from her hands, suddenly uncomfortably heavy. Antonia looked up at the giant figure in front of her. She couldn't fight him any longer; he was going to win. She was going to lose.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she thought despairingly of Cullen, of Vel, of the baby inside her, the baby she wasn't strong enough to protect.

And then the Qunari choked on his own blood, on the sword sticking out of his throat. The sword was withdrawn and the Qunari fell and a different Qunari figure, this one familiar and loved, stood there looking at her with a wild concern in his eye. "Boss! Boss!"

His voice seemed to come from very far away, and then it was gone as Antonia fell into darkness.


	120. Barrels of Gaatlok

_Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_27 Solace, 9:44_

Cullen was roaming the grounds of the Winter Palace, watching the servants. What disturbed him wasn't that Sera was right—he had believed what she told him—but that it wasn't just the Orlesian servants who were acting oddly. It was also the elves associated with the Inquisition.

He couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, was wrong … but something very definitely was.

One of his men came hurrying across the garden toward him, calling out his name.

"Report," Cullen said, when the young man was close enough to speak without shouting.

"Another … barrel … of that Maker-damned Qunari stuff." The soldier braced his hands on his thighs, bending over while he caught his breath.

"Take me there." Cullen was relieved to have something to do, something tangible to look at, even while he was sick with worry that there was more gaatlok to contend with. If there were two barrels, who could say how many more were secreted around the Winter Palace? Celene would hardly be pleased to have the Inquisition poking its nose into all her castle's nooks and crannies, but whatever was here would have to be found before it could be used.

With the new mabari at his heels, Cullen followed the soldier. Two elves, one Inquisition and one Orlesian, were standing over a barrel, eyeing each other with suspicion. Cullen had little time for their attitude. Ignoring them both, he bent to study the barrel, hoping against hope that it was something else, but of course, it was gaatlok. Of course. Because what they all needed was one more complication.

"Where did this come from?" he asked sharply.

The Orlesian elf answered, sullenly, "I brought it. Wine, for the guests."

"That's not wine. Who did you get this from?"

"It was in the shipment with all the other barrels. How was I to know it was not wine? It was marked for this location, and I brought it here as ordered. That was my duty." The Orlesian elf crossed her arms, looking at him defiantly.

Cullen sighed. He was clearly not going to get an answer from her beyond what she had been ordered to do. He wished the Iron Bull was here, instead of lost somewhere in the world beyond the eluvians with Antonia. That was one place Cullen had no desire to go—he preferred his feet on familiar, solid ground. But he wanted Antonia back, safe and sound and in his arms. Just when they had thought this part of her life was over, he thought sorrowfully, thinking of the baby they had left at Skyhold and the one she was carrying.

That line of thought wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he rose to his feet and went in search of Leliana.

The former spymaster didn't know any more than he did about the barrels of gaatlok in the Winter Palace, but they both assumed it must have something to do with the dead Qunari they had found, and with the Qunari lyrium mining operation Antonia had destroyed. They called their people together, along with the security detail from the Winter Palace, and instituted a thorough search for any more barrels. Where there were two, there would be more.

Varric and Josephine and Cassandra joined them at that point, freed from the day's Exalted Council session, and the five of them withdrew to Cassandra's chambers to discuss the problem.

"You don't think the Qunari are trying a takeover, do you?" Josephine asked.

Varric groaned. "The Qunari mounting a formal attack? That's just what we need."

"Sorry to ruin your new book with an international crisis," Cassandra snapped.

The dwarf smiled at her. "Oh, I'm sure that'll do great things for the book. But for the writer … possibly not so much."

Ignoring him, Cassandra asked impatiently, "What do we do about it?"

"I don't think there is much we can do, not until the Inquisitor comes back. She will likely know more about the Qunari's plans," Leliana said.

Cullen gritted his teeth. Couldn't anything ever be solved without Antonia having to do it personally? "Surely we can find something out without needing to run to the Inquisitor about it."

They all stared at him, then looked away, seeming to understand his frustration.

"I can look into where the barrels came from," Josephine offered. "If they were to be placed in particular locations, as the elf said they were, then they had to come from somewhere, and there will be a paper trail."

Leliana nodded. "I will question this servants, see what any of them know about the barrels."

"And I will go see if I can charm Teagan," Varric said. "That's one very unhappy Fereldan."

"Why is he unhappy with us? I mean, with the Inquisition." Cassandra corrected herself, reddening. "We have done nothing but help Ferelden—specifically in his lands!"

"I believe that must be why. We have done what he couldn't, or what he didn't, rather, and therefore have shown him up and caused his people to trust us more than they do him," Leliana pointed out. "No one likes to be made to look bad."

"He used to be considered a reasonable man. Pleasant, even," Cullen said. "The years have not been kind to him."

There came a knock at the door, and Cassandra moved to open it, while Leliana melted carefully into the shadows.

The Inquisition scout who stood there was wide-eyed, looking past Cassandra. "Is the Commander here? We need the Commander."

"What is it?" Cullen asked sharply.

"It's the Inquisitor. Come quick."


	121. Just Sodding Stay Fixed

_Thank you all so much for reading!  
_

* * *

_28 Solace, 9:44_

Antonia came awake slowly, as though she were swimming through a pile of blankets over her head, warm and dark and soft.

Blinking in the dim room, she found Phoenix tucked against her side in the bed, and Cullen on her other side, holding her hand. At the door, she could see the familiar giant bulk of the Iron Bull. A tension eased in him when he saw her eyes open, and Antonia felt a chill. If he was so relieved he couldn't hide the emotion, he must have been very concerned about her.

She looked at Cullen, who gripped her hand more tightly, his face showing the strain of his worry. "There you are," he said softly.

"Was I gone?"

The Iron Bull said, "You've been out for a few hours, boss."

Her hand moved to cover her stomach. The baby wasn't far enough along that she could feel it yet. Her eyes flew to Cullen's face, and he smiled wearily. "Dorian thinks the baby's probably fine." He looked at the Iron Bull, giving a small nod, and the Qunari left the room. "Are you feeling up to company, love? We've got a bit of a situation, and we need you at the top of your game."

Antonia shifted in the bed, sitting up. Phoenix whined at her inquiringly, and she gave him a reassuring pat on the head. The other mabari, the new one, got up and came to the side of the bed, looking up at her, his eyes intelligent and concerned. "Yes," she said to all three of them, "I think I'm fine."

"Good."

The others were trooping in—the Iron Bull, Dorian, Varric, Cassandra, Josephine, and Leliana. After they had all expressed their relief at seeing Antonia sitting up and looking well, they got right into it.

"While you were in the eluvian, we found more barrels of gaatlok here in the Winter Palace," Cullen began.

"A worryingly large number," Leliana added. "And my—" She caught herself and smiled at the Iron Bull. "The Inquisition's agents across Thedas report they've found barrels strategically placed in Val Royeaux and across the Free Marches."

Dorian shook his head, looking drawn and tense. "The Qunari could destroy noble houses across the known world with a single order."

Josephine sighed. "The only bright side is that once the ambassadors learn of this, they will suddenly remember the Inquisition's value."

"They'll trip over their tongues trying to tell us what a trusted fucking resource we are." The Iron Bull snorted. "Hypocrites."

"We can't all have your refreshing directness," Dorian said, offering his ex-lover a smile.

Leliana's mouth turned down at the corners. "It's an optimistic view, Josie, but I'm afraid too much so. Because the rest of the Council will also no doubt discover what I have—that the Inquisition is responsible for the threat."

"The gaatlok came in through us?" Antonia asked, shocked.

"Shit." The Iron Bull turned his face to the wall, and she could sense the guilt and self-condemnation going through him.

"How did this happen, damn it?" Cullen demanded.

Leliana looked at the back of the Qunari sorrowfully. "The elven servant handling the barrels was working for the Qunari."

"The servant was Orlesian." Cullen frowned. "Surely that reflects poorly on Orlais, not on us?"

"The barrels arrived at the Winter Palace on the Inquisition's supply manifest."

Cullen shook his head. "How are we supposed to fight a war when we can't even trust our own people?"

"You're supposed to have a spymaster who knows what the fuck he's doing," the Iron Bull said, his voice low and savage. "You can have my resignation—or my head on a pike, whichever you prefer."

Leliana went to him, laying a gloved hand on his arm. "This could have happened to anyone."

"You don't believe that."

"I do. I believe some of the people responsible were chosen by me; you would have had no reason to suspect them."

"I'm supposed to suspect everyone."

"Enough!" Antonia snapped. They were going to lose him if someone didn't do something. "Iron Bull, you feel guilty on your own time. For right now, you're still working for me—figure out how to fix this."

As she had hoped, the sternness worked; he turned to face her, his shoulders straightening. "Whatever you say, boss."

"You and Leliana work together to figure out how this happened and prevent it from happening again."

"I know that they were elves, Inquisitor," Leliana said. "And they have gone missing. As have a number of the elven servants from the Winter Palace."

"Sera said the elves were too happy; no one complaining about the nobles," Cullen said.

Varric chuckled. "She's got her own way of looking at the world, that girl, but she's not wrong."

"No, she wasn't. I wish I had … done more. Seen something." Cullen sighed.

Antonia swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing up to face them all. "We can't prevent everything those bent on evil will do; all we can do is stop it before it gets too far. The Inquisition stopped Corypheus and saved the world once. We can do it again if we must."

Josephine shook her head. "We will have to act quickly. Orlais and Ferelden are so angry about the way this Exalted Council has gone that they are planning to dismantle us as we speak."

Before Antonia could respond to the Ambassador, her hand flared, the pain stabbing up her arm and into her body, and she doubled over, crying out in pain. Cullen scrambled across the bed toward her and Dorian hurried to the other side, cradling her hand in his.

"I can't do anything," he said to Cullen over her head. "If it gets any worse …"

Antonia gritted her teeth, using all her strength to stand up straight. "Damn it!" she shouted. "We save Ferelden, and they're angry. We save Orlais, and they're angry. We close the Breach _twice_, and my own fucking hand wants to kill me! Could one thing in this whole damned world just sodding stay fixed?"

The Iron Bull roared with laughter. "You tell 'em, boss."

Looking up into Cullen's face, the last thing in the world Antonia wanted was to tell him what she had to do … but she had to, and there was no way around it. "I have to go after the viddasala. I have to stop the Qunari—before it's too late."

"No. You already almost got yourself killed. You and … No. I can't let you go." His arms went around her, holding on tightly. "I can't."

The others were silent, and at last he released her and stepped back.

"But I have to, don't I?" He blinked, and Antonia could see tears in his eyes. "After this—after this …" His voice broke.

Antonia put a hand on his arm, and he put his over it.

"Would you like me to inform the Exalted Council of the danger?" Josephine said softly.

"Yes. If we … if we fail, the Exalted Council needs to know what happened." Antonia pressed her face against Cullen's shoulder. "Leliana, can you continue working here in Bull's stead? I'm going to need him with me."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

The Iron Bull nodded. "I won't let you down, boss. That's a promise."

She reached for Dorian's hand, not even having to ask, grateful for his support. "Varric, you'll support Josephine?"

"You got it, Herald."

"Good. Now … can you all give us a moment, please?"

They all filed from the room, and Antonia held Cullen while he wept.


	122. The Price

_This was a bit of a challenge for me; I hope I did it justice. (Also, spoilers for the end of Trespasser, in case anyone hasn't finished it yet.) Thank you all for reading!  
_

* * *

_28 Solace, 9:44_

The Qunari had some kind of fortress buried deep within the Fade, and Antonia climbed the many stone steps wearily. Her hand spat sparks and burned with the intensity of the fire within it, and she had to release the pressure of it more and more often. All she wanted was to kill this damned Viddasala and get it over with, but there were so many Qunari in the way, and she was so tired of fighting and fighting and never getting anywhere.

At last, they made it into the fortress, finding a large room where a dragon was chained. The poor thing looked sick, and it spat a slimy green poison.

"Boss," the Iron Bull said, "I think I can set it free."

"I thought you liked killing dragons."

He shook his head, looking at it sorrowfully. "Not like this."

"Go, then."

She and Dorian and Cole kept the other Qunari busy while the Iron Bull was opening the gate and breaking the dragon's chains. It took out several Qunari on its way, and then flew off. The flight was erratic and slow, but the dragon was free, and that was something. The Qunari couldn't use it against them—or anyone else.

The Viddasala was poised in front of yet another eluvian. If Antonia ever got out into the real world again, she never wanted to see another eluvian for the rest of her life.

Raising her arm, the Viddasala called out to her remaining troops. The only word Antonia understood was "Inquisition." And then the Viddasala looked at the Iron Bull. "Hissrad," she said, her voice pleading. "Now, please. Vinek kathas."

If the Iron Bull turned on them … but he wouldn't, Antonia knew. She trusted him absolutely, and next to her, Dorian didn't take his eyes off the Viddasala. He trusted, too.

"Not a chance. Ma'am." The Iron Bull drew his sword, and the Viddasala spat a curse at him.

Antonia's hand sparked and sizzled, and she bent over, unable to hold back the cry of pain.

The Viddasala looked at her without pity. "You have such little time left. Elven magic already tore the sky apart; through you, it may yet shatter the world, as well. Perhaps the agents of Fen'Harel, your allies, can help you—but I think if they were going to, they already would have."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Antonia said through clenched teeth.

"Come, Inquisitor. I am the eyes and ears of the Qunari people. You cannot deceive me. You would have died from the mark on your hand, were it not for one of their chief agents."

As the true meaning of the Viddasala's words sank in, Dorian groaned. "I knew it."

"How did you know? When?" Antonia asked him.

"The suspicion has been growing. We need to find Solas."

"Yes," said the Viddasala. "He helped seal the Breach. He led you to Skyhold. He gave Corypheus the orb, then founded the Inquisition to fix his mistake. You cannot tell me you didn't know." Antonia's blank, startled look must have convinced her, because she burst out laughing. "How we have overestimated you, Inquisitor. We thought it was a cunning plan, this pretense of innocence while Solas did your dirty work, when in fact you know almost nothing at all. You were his pawn."

The Iron Bull growled. "I should have known."

"You are right, Hissrad. You should have."

Antonia's hand sparked again, and she fell to her knees, crying out with the agony.

The Viddasala watched her, emotionless. "Panahedan, Inquisitor. If it is any consolation, Solas will not outlive you." She disappeared through the eluvian, leaving a token force behind her, and the Iron Bull took them all out himself, enraged.

When it was over, Dorian went to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

The Iron Bull looked down at his former lover, smiling a little. "Don't worry about me. The Iron Bull is just fine." He put his hand over Dorian's anyway, and they stood looking at each other for a long moment. Then he let go of the mage and came toward Antonia. "When this is over, boss, drinks are on me. Probably a lot of them." He looked down at her abdomen. "Milk for you."

Antonia nodded, accepting the vision of the future he was offering for the encouragement it was meant to be. She clenched her fist, the green of the Anchor showing through her bones and skin. "Solas is the only one who can fix this. We have to find him before she does." She wouldn't let herself think about what would happen if they didn't, or if they found Solas and he couldn't, or wouldn't, fix the Anchor.

"You got it, boss."

Together, they went through the eluvian. Antonia noticed as they fought the remaining Qunari that had been left behind that her people kept crowding her away from the main part of the battle. Her hand was sparking and sizzling and blasting, its power almost out of her control now, the pain nearly too much to bear.

One final Qunari, a massive and powerful saarebas, stood between them and the last eluvian.

The Iron Bull pushed her toward the mirror. "Go. We got this." She hesitated, and he shoved her, hard. "Get out of here, boss. Get to Solas before that thing kills you."

Antonia didn't wait any further. She wanted to weep for the gallant men who so many times had stood between her and death; could they really fight that saarebas without her?

And then she stepped through the mirror and all was silence, the sounds of battle left far behind her. She moved through statues of Qunari frozen in positions of agony, and ahead she heard voices, speaking quietly in Qunlat.

As she came in sight of them, the Viddasala and the elf, the Viddasala reared back with a spear to attack the elf, who had his back to her. Before she could release it, the Viddasala was stone, as the others had been.

"Solas!" Antonia cried, hoping that she had earned the right not to be turned into a statue.

He turned toward her, his face soft with a great pain, but before he could speak the Anchor surged in Antonia's hand and she went to her knees, weeping with the agony of it. He came toward her, and something flashed blue in his eyes, and the pain stopped. The itching, the tingling, the burning, all of it stopped. Antonia sighed in blessed relief.

"Solas, I—"

"I know." He nodded at her hand. "This should give us more time."

They looked at each other, studying one another's face. "The Qunari believe you're an agent for someone who has taken the name Fen'Harel," Antonia said at last. "Is that true?"

Solas chuckled. "It is both close to and far from the truth. The Qunari rejection of myth and legend do not allow them to approach the truth. I am my own agent, and I did not need to take a name that had already been bestowed upon me."

Antonia's jaw dropped. "You _are_ Fen'Harel?" She blinked, trying to adjust. "I suppose that answers a great many questions."

"And gives rise to many more, I imagine. You should know, I think, that I was Solas first. The name Fen'Harel came later … an insult I took as a badge of pride." He smiled a little. "You also know the burden of a title that all but replaces your name."

"That I do." She clenched her fist, the lack of the Anchor's buzz a strange phantom itch in her palm. "What will you do now, Solas?"

"I slept for long ages, a dark and dreaming sleep, and I woke, still weak, a year before I joined you," he said, looking off into the distance over her shoulder as if he spoke more for himself than for her. "I found a world that was … alien to me. Hard to my people, cold and cruel." They were walking slowly toward a massive eluvian. "Still, I find some hope remains for restoration." He turned to her. "I must save the elven people, no matter what it costs."

"How? By returning them to what they were? By pushing aside ages of history as if it never happened?"

"I cannot answer that question, not now."

"Then when?"

"Perhaps never."

Antonia shook her head, impatient. "Solas, we can work together to restore your people."

"My people. That phrase alone should give you the answer." He looked at her sadly. "I caused this; I will fix it. You have always shown a thoughtfulness I respect; it would be too easy to tell you too much. I take no joy in it, but the return of my people must mean the end of yours."

"Why? Why can't we teach our peoples, and the dwarves, to live in greater harmony?"

He smiled a little, as if in pity for her idealism. "Perhaps you should be focusing your concern on the Inquisition. Your Inquisition. You have prevented an invasion by Qunari forces; that should give you a few years of relative peace. Your organization is now suffering from the inevitable fate of such things: betrayal and corruption."

Antonia couldn't deny that.

Solas went on, "I discovered the Qunari plot, the one I disrupted by leading them to your doorstep, when one of my agents in the Inquisition stumbled on one of their agents."

"Why bother? Why not just let us all kill each other, if you intend on destroying us all anyway?"

"I take no joy in what I must do, Inquisitor. What time remains to you, I would like to see as pleasant as it can be." He looked at her abdomen, and Antonia put her Anchorless hand over it. "Congratulations are in order, I see. You will no doubt be pleased to hear I sense no magic in the child you carry."

It was something of a relief; Antonia had been concerned all along by what Cullen's reaction would be to having a mage child. And had assumed that the Anchor would create magic where there might not have been any. Whether Vel would have magic remained to be seen, but it was a relief to know that this child, at least, would never have to make the cruel choices magic would require. "And this?" She held up her hand. "Will it kill me before or after the child is born?"

"You do not have much time."

As if in response to his words, the Anchor flared in her hand, the brief respite over. Antonia cried out.

"I must do something drastic, if I am to keep the mark from killing you."

"Please. Get it off! That's all I've ever wanted, to be able to put it down."

"Are you prepared for the cost?"

Through the pain, it was hard to understand him. "Will the child live?"

"He will."

"Then yes, whatever it is. Please!"

"Very well." Solas knelt next to her, taking her arm in his hands.

So close to him, Antonia tried one last time to reach the Solas she had thought had been her friend. "You don't need to destroy the world, you know that."

"There is no other way."

"There is. There must be. I will prove it to you."

"Will you?" He smiled. "I would treasure the chance to be wrong once again, my friend."

And then all was blackness, until she found herself in the Iron Bull's arms, being carried out of an eluvian into the Winter Palace.

Cullen was there, hurrying toward them. "Antonia, love. Antonia!"

She blinked at him, raising her arms toward him. "I'm here. I'm—" Only then did she notice that her left arm was missing below the elbow. That had been the price; she would never raise her blade again.


	123. Never Again

_Thank you all so much for coming along for this story and sticking with it for so long! I really appreciate it._

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_29 Solace, 9:44_

She was sleeping, at last. Cullen lay next to his wife, watching her tenderly. She had cried for hours, or so it felt, on learning what it had cost her to be rid of the Anchor forever.

Cullen had held her and reassured her and promised her that they would find a way. But there was no way, and she knew it as well as he did.

Now that she was asleep, he was free to admit to himself what he hadn't even dared to think while she was awake: that he was relieved. The Anchor was gone. It couldn't jeopardize her life any further. And … now that she could no longer wield a two-handed blade, she could no longer be asked to put her life in danger on behalf of the Inquisition, or anyone else. Selfish it may be—and as a soldier and a swordsman, he entirely understood the devastation of no longer being able to use her skills—but her life and her safety were the most important things in the world to him. He had feared her loss so many times.

Gently, he gathered her closer, resting his cheek on her hair, letting one hand steal across her stomach to cover the faint rise where their child slept. "Maker forgive me," he whispered. Because all that mattered to him, truly, was going home to their son and living in peace for the rest of their lives. Was it so much to ask?

He fell asleep with her in his arms, and woke to Antonia's movements as dawn broke, the light coming in through the windows.

She was up and beginning to struggle into her uniform one-handed before Cullen could dispel the haze of sleep.

"Let me help you, love."

She shook her head, not looking at him. "I can manage."

"I know you can, but it's … it's going to take some getting used to. And I would be glad to help."

Antonia stopped what she was doing. "Cullen." Fresh tears were flowing down her cheeks, and he practically leaped out of the bed to hold her. "I didn't—I didn't want it this way."

"Of course you didn't."

"Do you think he did it to punish me?"

"No." Little as Cullen cared for Solas, he couldn't imagine the elf being needlessly cruel this way. "I think he didn't have any other way to remove the Anchor. Remember, Corypheus couldn't take it off at all. I think Solas did the best for you that he could."

"Why? Why would he bother, if he's just going to destroy the world anyway?"

She had managed to get that out between sobs last night, and Cullen had pushed it out of his mind in favor of the more immediate necessity of comforting her as best he could. Now it all came flooding back, Solas as Fen'Harel, bent on restoring the world of the elves no matter what it cost the other races of Thedas. "You said he was willing to be convinced."

"'Willing' is putting it strongly. He's absolutely certain he's right; he just doesn't mind my spending what time he allows me to have trying to convince him." Antonia rubbed her face against Cullen's shoulder. "I'm so tired, Cullen. I—If I tell you something, will you … can you forgive me for it?"

"Of course. Always."

"I don't want to fight anymore. I don't … I don't want to run the Inquisition anymore. I don't even want to know what Solas is doing. I just want to go home to our little boy, and have our baby, and just … be."

Cullen tipped her chin gently up with one finger. "So do I, my light. So do I."

"Then—can we do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can we … just quit?"

"If that's what you want. The Inquisition has done its job—we defeated Corypheus, we saw order restored in the Chantry. Now, between Orlais and Ferelden and the Imperium and the elves … it may just be that the Inquisition is no longer what Thedas requires."

Her brown eyes studied his face, light rising in them like the dawn. "Yes. Oh, Cullen, I love you so much."

He pulled her close against him, closing his eyes, reveling in the knowledge that she was his now entirely, that he never again had to watch her go into battle and wonder if she was coming home. "I love you, too."


	124. To Dissolve the Inquisition

_This is the last Tuesday update - there will be three more chapters posted on Fridays. Thank you all so much for coming along on this ride! You've made it a lot of fun.  
_

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_29 Solace, 9:44_

As soon as morning had fully arrived, Cullen and Antonia called the others together in the Divine's rooms.

Josephine hadn't seen the arm yet, and she pulled Antonia into a hug with a face full of mute misery. "My dear friend, I am so sorry."

"Me, too." Antonia disentangled herself. She had won a measure of control over her grief, and didn't want to jeopardize it. "You've all heard what happened, what Solas wants to do?"

There were sober nods.

"I knew there was something off about Chuckles, but I didn't think he was crazy," Varric said.

"He doesn't think he's crazy."

"They usually don't."

"The point is, how do we stop him?" Leliana asked.

"Much as I hate to say it, I don't know if we can, at least, not until he begins to make a move."

Leliana and the Iron Bull and Dorian exchanged looks, but none of them said anything further.

Antonia went on, "What I wanted to tell you all today, though, is this: The Inquisition has done the work it was created to do. We defeated Corypheus, we closed the Breach, we solved the mystery of the death of the Divine. From here, we will only become more of a target for the ire of other countries."

Josephine shook her head sadly. "All too true, I am afraid."

Looking at all of them, remembering the cold camp at Haven, and the Breach, and Corypheus, and the disaster that Skyhold had been when they first arrived, and all of Josephine's many letters, and the Iron Bull turning his back on the Qun, and Varric always there to cheer everyone up … Antonia could feel tears welling in her eyes again.

Cullen put his arm around her, pulling her close. "What the Inquisitor is trying to say …"

"Is that she is disbanding the Inquisition," Cassandra finished.

Antonia looked at the Divine, worried that she was offended. After all, Cassandra had begun what Antonia was so summarily ending. But Cassandra was nodding, and so was Josephine.

"It is time."

"This Exalted Council has proved that," Josephine said sadly. "Ferelden will take us apart, or Orlais will take us over, if we don't take steps to do so ourselves."

"You give any thought yet to how you're going to dismantle, boss?" the Iron Bull asked.

Cullen answered for her. "We'll do what we can to make each of the keeps a self-sufficient entity; private constabularies, if you will. And the soldiers can be reassigned to the keeps."

"I can use the favors we have accumulated to provide some protection for the keeps while they are finding their feet," Josephine said.

The Iron Bull nodded his approval. "The spies can do the same; and anyone who wants can join up with the Chargers. I've got a feeling we'll be plenty busy."

"There are going to be less people to resettle than you think," Varric said. "Anyone notice the sudden servant shortage this morning?"

"My morning tea was quite late," Cassandra agreed.

The dwarf grinned at her. "That wasn't the servants' fault."

She rolled her eyes, huffing at him in disgust.

The Iron Bull quirked an eyebrow in their direction before turning back to Antonia. "The elves are gone, boss. Not all, but a lot."

She felt a chill work through her. "Solas's doing? I was … hoping we'd have more time before he got things underway."

"We may still," Leliana assured her. "Powerful trickster god or not, he will still have to organize his people."

"But we have little time left before the Exalted Council convenes. We must decide what to do."

"I know what to do." Antonia squared her shoulders, looking around at all of them. She clenched her left hand—or she tried to, before she remembered it wasn't there. "I'm going to dissolve the Inquisition."

There was sorrow in the faces of her friends, her partners and companions, but understanding, as well. She was the Inquisitor; it was at heart her decision. But if one of them had spoken up, just one, she would have reconsidered.

No one did, and Antonia was grateful for it. She was tired of fighting, tired of putting her needs behind that of everyone in Thedas, and for nothing. Dorian had told her once that no one would thank her; he had been right. They hadn't. But she had won so much in the process—the love and loyalty of all these people chief among them.

"Good," she said softly. "Now let's go tell the rest of Thedas."


	125. To Say Good-bye

_Thank you all so much for reading! Next update next Friday.  
_

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_30 Solace, 9:44_

"Damn," Antonia muttered as the buttonhole slipped out of her fingers again. Her pants were a bit tight, given the faint swelling from her pregnancy, and trying to suck in so she could hold the fabric and the button in the same hand and manage to put them together was harder than she had hoped it would be.

"Let me." Cullen took over, and finished buttoning her jacket for her at the same time.

"I'm never going to get the hang of this."

He looked down at her for a moment with an odd expression on his face, and she frowned at him.

"What?"

"I'm trying to decide if 'of course you will!' or 'you won't have to, because I'm going to be here to help every morning for the rest of your life' sounds more annoying."

Antonia smiled. "The second one. I can't let you fasten my clothes every day for the rest of my life, as if I were a small child."

"It's been two days, my light. Give yourself time to learn."

"I used to rage at the Anchor. I hated it."

"I know."

"But now … this isn't the way I wanted it off."

"Of course it isn't." Cullen put his arms around her and drew her against him. "But for now, we have to hurry if we're going to say good-bye to everyone and get on the road at a decent hour. I miss our boy."

"Me, too." Antonia smiled.

She even let Cullen finish the packing when he waved her off. With Phoenix at her heels, she made her way down to the courtyard where their friends were gathering—probably for the last time.

Leliana had left the night before, after a semi-secret meeting Antonia and Cullen had chosen not to attend. Whatever was to be done against Solas, or in preparation for what might come, Antonia felt she had given enough. If, someday, her friends needed to call on her, that was one thing. But for now, she was just as happy to let them make their plans and preparations without her.

They had understood, bless their hearts, and Leliana had wished Cullen and Antonia the best of luck on her own behalf and on Thomas's.

Dorian was waiting for her, and he turned to throw his arms around her, pulling her close. "There is always a place for you, wherever I am," he whispered fiercely.

"Ditto."

"And this is for you."

She turned the object over in her hand. "What is it?"

"A sending crystal. On the off chance that you might want to hear my voice from time to time—and in the certainty that I will want to hear yours."

They embraced again, both holding back tears.

Dorian pulled away at last. "Tell that lovely man of yours to take care of you, and you take care of that lovely man who once was mine."

"I'll do my best, when he lets me."

"And …" Dorian placed a hand on Antonia's abdomen. "I'm sorry I won't be there."

"I'm naming him after you, I hope you know."

At that, his mustache twitched, his eyes shining suspiciously. "Then I am certain he will be utterly fabulous."

As Dorian hurried away, Josephine and Cullen both came down from their rooms.

"Bags packed," Cullen said cheerfully. "We're ready to start for Skyhold whenever you are."

"And you, Josephine? Are you coming back with us?"

"Oh, yes. There is much to be put away properly there, and much to pack up. And then … I will return to Antiva, I think, and marry someone suitable, and run my family's affairs."

"Blackwall is gone?"

"Yes. For good, he tells me. He said to say good-bye, and if you are ever in the Anderfels … not to come visit." She smiled. "He is going where he feels he is best suited."

The Iron Bull appeared from the opposite direction, and then the Divine, accompanied by Varric.

"You ready, boss?"

"Ready. I look forward to going home. Although I suppose it isn't really my home any longer, is it?"

"What do you intend to do with Skyhold?" Cassandra asked.

"Hard to say. I think … it's well suited to be its own separate entity, but … I won't be running it."

Cullen squeezed her hand.

"You really intend to do this whole 'settling down' thing?" Varric frowned. "That's never good for readership."

"That, my friend, is your problem." She bent to hug him. "I know you'll be happy in Kirkwall, writing stories and dodging the Merchants' Guild, but if you ever feel the need to get away …"

"You'll be the first, Herald." He grinned at Cassandra. "Or maybe the second."

The Divine sighed. "You're all leaving me again. Now I have to deal with all these stuffy Chantry people."

"What's that they say, 'be careful what you wish for'?" The Iron Bull chuckled. "Good luck to you."

"And to you."

As the Iron Bull and Josephine mounted their horses, Cassandra reached for Antonia, embracing her. "You were an exceptional Inquisitor. I hope you know that."

"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."

"That is ridiculous."

Cullen helped Antonia into her saddle before mounting himself. The new mabari joined Phoenix at the horses' heels. Varric and Cassandra waved, and the last remnants of the Inquisition's leadership rode out of Halamshiral's gates, on their way home.


	126. The Way It Should Be

_Next Friday wraps it up! Thanks to all of you for sticking with me so long - I've really appreciated all your enthusiasm and support along the way.  
_

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_1 August, 9:44_

The familiar walls and towers were ahead of them, and Antonia couldn't contain her excitement any further. She spurred the horse on, glad that at least this was something she could still do well with only one hand. Cullen kept pace with her, and the gates opened for them. The Iron Bull had sent ravens on ahead, so everyone in the keep knew what had happened at the Exalted Council. Antonia braced herself for anger, for coldness, but instead, there they were, everyone lined up and applauding as their former Inquisitor rode into Skyhold.

She blinked back tears, moved that they would still approve of her even after she had dissolved the entity that had brought them all together. And then the tears flowed despite herself, because she saw Jared coming down the steps with the most beautiful sight she'd seen in days—her golden-curled, rosy-cheeked baby, waving a tiny little Inquisition banner.

In her haste to dismount, she actually forgot that she was missing an arm, and nearly fell off the horse when her left arm wasn't there to catch her. But she forgot about that as she ran to them, pressing her face against the soft little baby cheek.

He looked startled as she rushed up to him, pulling back from her and clinging to his uncle, and for a moment it was touch and go which of them was going to cry first.

"It's Mama, baby. Remember your mama?"

At the sound of Antonia's voice, Vel's eyes got big and round and he patted her cheek with his little hand.

"There you are! There's my boy!"

As she kept talking, a smile crept across his face, and then he threw his arms around her neck, clinging on tight. Antonia closed her eyes, holding him close, smelling his familiar post-bath scent. And then Cullen was there, with his arms around both of them, nuzzling his cheek against Vel's.

"Don't mind me," Jared said, "I'm just the baby-carrier, apparently."

Antonia laughed. Cullen grabbed the front of his brother's shirt, pulling him into the family hug. "What would we do without Uncle Jared?"

"That's better."

Behind her, she could hear the Iron Bull dismissing the assembled Inquisition, or what was left of it, promising that everyone's questions would be answered as soon as possible.

Lucky had rushed up to them and was sniffing noses with Phoenix and the new mabari. The three of them seemed to accept each other, and they trooped off to the stables looking for a handout from the always softhearted kennel master.

Cullen and Antonia took the baby up to their quarters, accompanied by Jared, and answered his many questions. Rather, Cullen did. Antonia crooned to the baby and played pat-a-cake and counted his tiny little toes and generally tried to make up for all the time she had lost.

Jared left the three of them alone once his curiosity was at least partially satisfied, and Cullen got his fair share of baby snuggles. Vel eventually drifted off to sleep against his chest, and Antonia fell asleep curled at his side, and he simply lay there enjoying the moment to breathe.

Morning came all too soon, and with it the need to begin dismantling what they had put together.

Antonia and Cullen sat with Josephine and the Iron Bull and went over personnel rosters and inventory lists and determined where people and things would be distributed until the door to the War Room flew open unexpectedly.

Cullen was on his feet, his hand on his sword, before he recognized Dagna. She ignored him and hurried to Antonia's side.

"Inquisitor, I heard what happened, and I think I can fix it. You see, you could use leather straps and maybe horn would work, it has more give and would be longer-lasting than wood, and then you could make—"

"Dagna, what are you talking about?"

The dwarf blinked at her. "Your arm. I'm going to make you a new one."

"Oh. Oh! You can do that?"

"Well … it won't be able to do everything, but I think I can make you one that will help."

Antonia reached out to hug the archanist. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, Inqu—Oh, I suppose we don't call you that anymore." Dagna looked around at them all. "So, where am I going?"

The Iron Bull cleared his throat. "That's a good question. Boss, we never talked about Skyhold."

"No." Antonia hated to think of leaving her home.

"It's a strategic location, but one both Ferelden and Orlais will be extremely wary of," Josephine pointed out.

"Exactly." The Iron Bull nodded. "I'd like to take it over, for the Chargers. Maybe expand a little."

Unspoken was the idea that if he needed to use the existing Inquisition infrastructure in whatever moves would be made against Solas, Skyhold would be invaluable.

To Antonia, the more important point was that her beloved home would stay in hands that would care for it as she had. "I think that's a marvelous idea."

The Iron Bull grinned broadly. He looked at Dagna. "You willing to stay on, little red?"

"I wasn't looking forward to packing up all my things just when I got the Undercroft set up the way I like it," she said. "Of course I'll stay."

"I am glad to have that settled," Josephine said as Dagna left the room. "How long will you stay?" she asked Antonia.

"That depends on the generosity of the new landlord." Antonia smiled at the Iron Bull.

"My big old fortress is your big old fortress, boss." He looked serious for a moment. "I think you should stay until the little _imekari_ is born. I'd rather have you here with some good healers than off who knows where."

"Me, too," Cullen agreed fervently. "I'll have my sister come up for this one, too. She's delivered a few babies in her time." He put an arm around Antonia's shoulders. "I'm not taking any chances with your well-being. Not ever again."

"I'll be fine," Antonia protested.

The Iron Bull nodded. "Yes, because we're going to make damned sure of it."

Cullen didn't say anything more, but his arm tightened around her. And for once, Antonia relaxed into it. Maybe it was time to let someone take care of her, for a change.

It took nearly a week, but between them, they managed to find places for everyone who needed one, and redistributed the resources of the Inquisition so that each of the keeps could start off as its own entity with enough supplies to keep it going for some time.

Antonia stood on the battlements with the baby in her arm, watching the troops file out. Many of them looked up to see her there and saluted.

Cullen came up behind her, putting his arms around her. She leaned back against his shoulder. "It's going to seem so empty around here," she said.

"Yes. But look at them—they're all right. They did good work; they accomplished what they set out to do, and they're ready to move on to the next thing. You did the right thing."

"It was the only thing." Antonia sighed. "Is it wrong that I'm ready to move on to the next thing, too?"

"Not from where I'm standing. From where I'm standing, that's just the way it should be."


	127. The Happiest Man in Thedas

_And last chapter. I so appreciate all those of you who have stuck with this for a year and a half and 127 chapters, and shared your enthusiasm for this story and these characters with me. It was a joy to write, and you made it a joy to post. Thank you!_

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_7 Kingsway, 9:53_

"I get to tell!"

"No, I do!"

"I'm faster than you."

"I'm bigger than you."

The squabbling voices and the accompanying sound of racing feet preceded the crashing open of Cullen's office doors, as he had anticipated they would, and two tall boys ran in, pushing each other, skidding to a stop on the wooden floor in front of his desk.

On the rug near the hearth, the three mabari grunted and shifted to more comfortable positions. The boys' mabari lifted his head and looked at them with a measured glance, clearly trying to determine if his input was needed. When neither of them called to him, he laid his head back down and soon was asleep again.

Cullen pushed his glasses down his nose and looked at them over the top of the frames, waiting silently. It was a tactic that worked well on his students, but never seemed to impress his sons as much as he thought it ought to.

"Father, you'll never guess—"

"No, I'm going to tell him!"

"Shut up, Dory, you are not."

"I am, too."

"Boys!" The severe voice came from the doorway. "What have I told you about interrupting your father's office hours?"

They looked at each other, rivalry instantly put aside in the face of the bigger threat. They turned to Antonia and chorused, "Don't?"

"That's right. Don't. You both come right back out here, close the doors, and knock properly."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cullen suppressed a smile as they did her bidding. Sometimes he wished they listened more to him, but he had to admit he found their impulsiveness charming more often than not. Vel, the oldest, had begun swordsmanship training with his mother, and was learning more discipline. Dory was showing more of an aptitude for daggers and a certain sneakiness, and Cullen sometimes despaired of the idea of his younger son ever curbing his willful and impulsive ways. On the other hand, they both had loving hearts and a thoughtfulness he liked to see in them, and that made up for a lot.

A soft tap sounded on his closed doors, and he took off his glasses, folding them and laying them aside on the stack of papers he had been grading. "Enter."

"Father, we have to tell you—"

"You'll never guess who we heard from—"

Cullen looked at his wife over the boys' heads. After well over a decade of marriage, she was still as beautiful as ever, and he blessed the day she had fallen from the sky into his life, despite all that had come with that fateful day.

Dagna had fashioned her an arm to replace the one lost to the Anchor. It wasn't enough for Antonia to resume fighting with a two-handed sword, but it had some mobility that helped in daily life. When they left Skyhold, Roya went back to Orzammar. Rather than look for someone else she could trust as a nurse, Antonia had chosen to care for the boys herself. Now that they were old enough to demand less of her attention, she had accepted a job as a trainer in swordsmanship for the Denerim guards.

Cullen had been taken on as faculty at the University of Denerim, teaching military history and Templar history. He enjoyed it a lot more than he had ever imagined he would, and had an unsurprising reputation for being tough but fair.

He decided he had made the boys wait long enough. "Yes? Vel, you first."

His older son, quieter and less boisterous than his brother, said, "Uncle Varric's coming to town."

"Vel! You told me I could say. I'm named after him!"

They had named their second son Dorian Varric Trevelyan, and he truly seemed to have parts of both his namesakes' personalities, much to Cullen's occasional chagrin.

"Don't blame your brother," Antonia said.

"No," Cullen agreed. "I asked the question. Did Varric say when he was coming, Dory?"

"Yes, in two weeks. And that's not all!"

"I get to tell this one." Antonia was smiling broadly. "Bull's going to be in town, too. Wicked Grace!"

Cullen groaned. "Must we?"

"If you would stop betting your clothing, I think you'd enjoy it more."

"They cheat!"

"Yes. Yes, they do." She grinned at him.

Cullen couldn't help grinning back. He loved to see her light up the way she did when any of the companions came for a visit. Varric was still Seneschal of Kirkwall, still living in the Hanged Man, as far as Cullen knew, and he had somehow enticed Hawke and Fenris to come back to the city as well. The Iron Bull now ran three bands of Chargers out of Skyhold. Cullen suspected he also still ran the dismantled Inquisition's spy network, but they never asked, and he never said. Everyone involved had been willing to respect Cullen and Antonia's choice to step away from whatever plans were going to be made to counteract Solas, although he had to admit that any time more than one former companion appeared in Denerim, he secretly suspected it was an attempt to recruit them.

They hadn't seen Josephine, now married to an Antivan merchant from another house, for a long time. Dorian called by sending crystal fairly regularly, but he was deeply embroiled in Tevinter politics and couldn't seem to tear himself away.

Vivienne was busy stirring up trouble for Divine Victoria and trying to make the new and improved Circles last, but it was an uphill battle, and one she appeared to be losing. The Chantry had developed some stability under Cassandra's rule, but it was a shaky and hard-won stability, and Cullen dreaded the next inevitable upheaval.

Cole had gone off on the open road with Maryden; no one had heard from him in quite some time. And Blackwall had disappeared to Weisshaupt in the Anderfels with the other Wardens. Sera was around somewhere—they often had little gifts from her 'friends' appear on their doorstep.

And Leliana wrote occasionally, but under cover of secrecy. She and Thomas were very happy, and very uninterested in returning to the world. Cullen couldn't blame them. Antonia's notoriety was still something of a problem occasionally, even though they lived fairly quietly and she never traded on her past as the Inquisitor.

He pushed his chair back from his desk. "Well, if Varric and the Iron Bull are coming to town, I think it's time for a long-overdue lesson." He smiled at the boys. "How would you like to learn to play Wicked Grace?"

Antonia flushed guiltily and looked away. The boys snickered, and Cullen groaned.

"Well, they had to learn sometime," she said, trying to hide the impish twinkle in her eyes.

"I suppose they did. Fine. Boys, go set up the table and get the cards. When Uncle Jared comes for dinner, we'll see if we can't rope him in, too." Jared split his time between a small hold in South Reach near Mia and Ariel and their families and a little house in Denerim. He had never married, but took tremendous joy in being an uncle many times over.

The boys hurried to do as he had asked. "I'll deal," Dory said.

"You always deal from the bottom," Vel complained.

"That," Antonia said, "I didn't teach him."

"I think it came with the name." Cullen reached out and pulled her into his arms. "Have I told you yet today that you make me the happiest man in Thedas?"

"Mm. I believe you said something like that this morning. Or tried to, before you were … distracted." She grinned at him.

"Come on, you scamp, while I beat you and your sons at cards."

"That'll be the day."


End file.
